Tainted Purity
by inky.pinky.106
Summary: A battered, broken soul seeks the purity denied him since childhood...Updated to R because of certain scenes.LAST CHAPTERS ARE UP! It's finally finished! Please R&R?
1. Bruised beginnings

**Disclaimer: **I do not (unfortunately) own any of the characters of places, they are the brainchild of others.

**Warning:** Contains and refers to violence, child abuse, rape and self-harm.

I haul my suitcase into the dorm room and dump it beside my new bed, surveying the unfamiliar surroundings. These dorms are a lot different to the Varsity ones, but I'm not complaining. The walls in here are a soft yellow instead the garish, blood red that decorates the Varsity walls. I have my own reasons for hating such a colour, only some of which involve the fact that it's on my old team jersey. Turning to the door, I kick it shut with my foot and go to sit on my bed, wondering when the others will turn up. It looks like Fulton's already here, his things are scattered in a large explosion around the small room, which is very like him, but there's no sign of him, although I can't say I'm not glad. I don't know if I can face anyone right now.

I wander into the bathroom and roll up the blinds, allowing sunlight to filter into the tiny space. Turning to the mirror, I self-consciously peer at my reflection, lightly prodding the vicious black bruise around my eye and wincing at the dull pain. I sigh resignedly and hang my head, knowing that this will be all too visible and hoping that no one finds it suspicious. One good thing about being with Varsity last year was that at least no one noticed me, so I was able to stay out of the way and hide until I could show a clear face again. A bang from the adjoining room causes my head to snap up, my thoughts interrupted, and I hurry from the bathroom into the dorm corridor and run into the next room, where I see Guy and Goldberg with a box between them, each shouting at the other heatedly.

"It's not like I did it on purpose!" yells Goldberg, his faint Jewish accent stronger in his anger.

"I know that, but I told you to be careful with it!" Replies Guy in a throaty bellow that surprises me. I never knew the kid had it in him-he's usually so calm and quiet...

"I was careful, you were the one that tripped! What was I supposed to do? Fall as well?"

"No, you were meant to hold onto it, dork!"

"Dork? Am I the one that dropped it? I don't think so, klutz!"

"Klutz?! Let me tell you something you-"Guy stops mid-sentence as he notices me. "Oh...hi Adam, what's up?"

I raise an eyebrow and give him a sardonic look. "I was going to ask the same thing." He and Goldberg glance at each other murderously, neither speaking for a moment, then Guy answers. "I decided to bring my TV from home with me-the one I have in my room. I asked him" he jerked a thumb at his roommate "to help me and the result is that now it's on the floor after an unpredicted flight through thin air!"

Goldberg turns red in his anger and glares daggers at Guy's back before retaliating with: "I didn't do anything! I was holding my end of the stupid box when that geek tripped over his feet and went sprawling! You try holding one end of a TV with no one helping you carry it! It's no joke!"

"Hey! Who are you calling a geek, you dumbass?"

"Dumbass? I'll show you who's the dumbass around here you-"I back out of the room and shut the door, deciding to let them iron out their differences alone. I'm not so bothered about the fact that I got a rather cool reception-it was to be expected-but I can't handle any arguments right now, God knows I've had enough of them to deal with over the summer.

As I wander back into my own room I catch a glimpse of black leather and faded denims before an unbearable force pounds into me, winding me and knocking me to the floor. Dazed, I raise my head from the carpet and look up to see two shadows leaning over me, each at least seven foot tall, three foot wide and scary as hell. I whimper and try to run, but a hand reaches down and grabs my shoulder, pulling me to my feet.

"Hey Banksie!" rumbles a familiar voice, "Long time no see!"

"Yeah man, how you been?" I straighten up and stop trying to make a bid for freedom, looking instead behind me. I give my first real smile in months as I see Fulton and Portman grinning at me, both incredibly tanned after a long vacation and both the first ones to show genuine enthusiasm at my return to the team.

"Great!" I lie, the smile threatening to fall from my face as I remember the past three months. But how can I tell them otherwise? They wouldn't be interested, and besides, it's got nothing to do with them. I've dealt with this on my own for too long; it's too late to let anyone else in. Fulton frowns as I turn and points to my face.

"What happened to you?"

I'd thought ahead about my excuse on the train to Eden Hall. "I tripped in the bathroom and hit the sink. Blacked out for a few moments, but it's nothing serious." It was almost true-I did hit the sink and I was unconscious. Portman laughs slightly.

"It's not like you to be so clumsy, Banksie!"

"No" agreed Fulton, not smiling any more, "it's not." He has an odd look on his face, but Portman doesn't notice. He becomes distracted by the noise from the next room.

"What's up with Guy and Goldberg?"

I shrug. "Something to do with a TV...an accident, but one Guy's not willing to admit to." I attempt a grin but it feels unfamiliar. "Sounds like blue murder's being committed!"

Portman whoops in exultation. "Alright! Let's go see what's going on!" he runs from the room, Fulton following slowly. At the door he halts and looks back at me, trying to say something. I wave him on before he can get the words out.

"Go see if you can sort those two out. I don't think I can deal with them right now...I-I'm really tired." Despite the fact that it's only ten in the morning. Fulton frowns, but leaves. I sigh, knowing that I won't be able to escape him later. There's only so long you can hide from your roommate, and I've got to go to bed at some point. Knowing Fulton he'll ask until he gets an answer, but what do I tell him? He's not going to believe the usual stories-he's not as dumb as people make out. Besides that, he's been acting oddly for a while, like he knows something...but how could he? I've been careful to conceal the truth, haven't I? Lord knows it's not been easy, not when I have to return to Eden Hall looking like I've gone ten rounds with a gorilla with a hormone problem...I shake my head and try to think of a cover up. It's going to be difficult this time. There's only so many times you can use the old 'I walked into a door' excuse without anyone asking questions. I make my way back into the bathroom and shut the door behind me, locking it, just in case. Sitting on the side of the bath I take a few deep breaths to calm myself and feel the tears begin to form. Sniffling slightly I hang my head and bite my lip, willing myself to hold back and stay strong. A mirthless laugh breaks quietly from my mouth as I think this. Strong? When have I ever been strong? A strong person would stand up for himself. A strong person wouldn't let himself be beaten to a pulp. A strong person wouldn't hurt himself just to relieve the self-hatred and shame...a sob catches in my throat and I stifle it quickly, feeling hot tears stream down my face, carving burning tracks over my cheeks. Memories crowd into my mind, images of grim faces, beating fists, brutal feet. I weep as I reflect on the beatings, the name-callings, the abuse...the blood. So much of it...where did it come from? From the punches, the kicks...from me.

Still sobbing I pull the bandaging from my wrist and gaze at the dark welts criss-crossing the bruised skin. No one knows. They just think the bandages are for support...they were, at first. But then they became the perfect excuse. Who would suspect? I even manage to fool myself sometimes. My vision shimmers as more tears well in my eyes and I let my arm drop to my lap, my energy gone.

The noise from next door has abated; obviously Fulton and Portman are sorting things between Guy and Goldberg. I can't think straight right now, my head is in a real mess. I'm too tired to think I just want to sleep. Wiping the tears from my face I summon up enough energy to unlock the door and stumble through to the bedroom, collapsing onto my bed. I think I'll just lie here for a while...it's so comfortable...I haven't slept for days...I think...I'll...just...

I'm looking into a mirror, a small five-year-old stares back, his white-blonde hair drifting in a thick sweep across his forehead, silver-blue eyes wide and filled with tears. As I watch the reflection, two older boys appear, each with dark blonde, curling hair, one with green eyes, one with grey. They smile maliciously, their hands outstretched and the child whimpers, watching them in the mirror. I feel hard fingers grip my shoulders, see the two boys clench their hands roughly over the child's smaller shoulders and squeeze. We both cry out in pain and I watch as shining threads trail down the small boy's face. He utters something in a silent voice; there is no sound. The older boys reply with evil grins, their grip intense now. The image flickers, like a badly tuned TV, and then returns.

I'm looking into a mirror, a small five-year-old stares back, his white blonde hair thick with the blood dripping from his forehead, silver-blue eyes bruised and half-closed, surrounded by a mass of flowing scarlet. The image is reflected hundreds of times, a large crack in the mirror shivering the picture before me, shards of shining glass glittering a dull crimson...

I wake up thrashing, feeling a weight pressing on my shoulders; a voice is calling my name. Still trapped in my dream I lash out, catching my attacker with a clenched fist. I hear a loud curse, feel the weight vanish and sit up swiftly, casting my frantic gaze around the room. My head clears a little and I'm released from the fear and pain of unreality. Coming to my senses I begin to wonder what the hell just happened and look down beside my bed, only to find Fulton lying on the floor wheezing and clutching his stomach, curled up in a ball and trying to regain his breath.

"...The...hell?" He manages to gasp, rising to his knees and inhaling sharply, looking up at me in confusion. I'm momentarily stunned by the fact that I've just winded one of the infamous Bash Brothers, then shake myself mentally and leap from the bed, extending a hand towards Fulton.

"Hey...Fulton...I am so sorry...I didn't realise..."

"No...problem..." He gasps, his breathing beginning to ease. I help him onto my bed and wait while he allows his breathing to settle. Eventually he turns to me, frowning. I'm in for it now. "What was that all about, Adam?" he demands, the concern in his voice startling. I expected him to be outraged, or at least indignant. I look into his face and see only anxiety. I shrug.

"Bad dream."

"Bad dream? Man, you were thrashing around like you were having a fit or something! I was on the verge of going for help when you started screaming, so I tried to wake you up, but you caught me with your fist..." he trailed off, watching me intently, worry evident in his blue eyes. I sigh.

"Old memories, that's all."

There's a heavy silence, then: "...Memories?"

I've said too much and refuse to answer, but Fulton persists. "You can tell me Adam, I won't hurt you." He stares into his lap. "I know something's going on, you can't deny it. I'm not forcing you to tell me, but I want you to know that I'm here for you." Here for me? Since when has anyone been here for me? Since when has anyone cared? I look into his earnest face and know that I could never burden him with the truth. How could I tell such an old friend everything he wants to know? How do I tell him about my life, my real life, the one no one knows about. They all think I come from the perfect family, have the perfect background...I wish it was true. No. I look at Fulton and realise that I must never let him know. I must keep it to myself. I couldn't disappoint him like that. I could never let on about the years of torment and torture, or about how every time I come home my father and brothers make a sport of trying to think up new ways to hurt me. I could never tell him about my mother, who sits in the background, watching them beating me and letting them, safe in the knowledge that as long as I'm there they'll leave her alone. I could never tell him about the long nights lying awake, afraid to go to sleep because of what will happen if I do and the way I barricade my door with anything I can lay my hands on. I could never tell him about my father...I hang my head in shame as memories enter my head; memories of hot, sweaty hands, heavy breathing, grunts and moans of pleasure ...I shut my eyes against the pictures in my mind, but they won't go away. I can feel the filth lying on my skin like an oily layer that thwarts my every attempt to scrub it off, and I move away from Fulton, not wanting to contaminate such an innocent soul. He seems startled, but attempts to lay a hand on my arm. I flinch unconsciously and he pulls back, a hurt look in his eyes. He wanted to help, but I know he can't. No one can. There is no help, no salvation from a life like mine. I deal with it in my own way, by hurting myself. I let the shame and anger and dirt out through more pain, I inflict injury on myself to give me back a sense of identity, of power. It never works, but I do it anyway. I can't tell him this. It would disappoint him too much-if he ever understood in the first place. I rise from the bed and walk towards the door.

"Thanks Fulton, but I think you've misunderstood."

"Adam wait!" He calls, but I've already shut the door. I've shut it on him and I've shut it on my memories as well. But for how long? How many hours before they return, howling for my blood? How long before I'm putting a knife to my arm in an attempt to channel the pain? How long before I continue my quest for innocence and a childhood I never had? I don't think I have long, but for now my mind is blissfully numb...Until I realise that I've left my bandages in my dorm room with Fulton...my bloodstained, scarlet-striped bandages...


	2. Cutting deeper

Panicking, I run blindly back to the dorm room, stumbling around corners I can't even remember taking. My mind is fixed solely on returning and getting rid of the soiled bandages before Fulton can find them and ask any more questions. Finally skidding to a halt in front of the closed door I wait a moment to calm my breathing. He mustn't suspect anything, can't recognise that anything's wrong. Controlling myself, I open the door quietly and breathe a sigh of relief to find the small room empty, then make my way into the bathroom. As I walk in I see them, lying discarded on the side of the bath, just as I left them. My heart is still jumping erratically as I pick them up, stuffing them into my pocket and striding from the condemning glare of my reflection in the mirror. I suppress a shudder as I remember my dream from earlier. Will there ever be any peace for me? I locate one of my bags and open a side pocket, pulling out a neatly rolled, clean bandage whilst hurriedly stowing the old one at the same time. I sit on my bed and begin to wrap the snowy linen around my tender wrist, both the original sprain and the self-inflicted cuts aching under the applied pressure. I jump and look around guiltily as the door opens quietly, the ends of the bandage slipping through my fingers. It begins to unravel and I grab it just before it falls from my arm completely. Turning, I glimpse a rather tall figure silhouetted in the doorway and as I look it steps forward and materialises into Dwayne. I give my second genuine smile of the day. I really like Dwayne; he seems to understand me better than the others. Most people either pry or ignore, but Dwayne accepts me for who I am and understands that I'm a solitary person and want to remain that way. In the same way I give Dwayne the space he seems to need and leave him alone if he doesn't want to talk. I've always found a strange quality to him, though; as if there's a lot more than meets the eye. He messes around with the rest of the team and laughs and jokes, but I don't think that's what he is inside. To me he seems a much sadder, lonelier person, much like myself. Maybe that's why I find him easier to get along with, I don't know. Ever since he joined the Ducks we've been close friends and I know that he tells me a great deal more than he tells anyone else, and I respect him for that. He returns the smile and moves forward, seating himself on Fulton's bed. I hastily pull down my sleeve and roll the bandage up again, placing it beside me for later. I can't do this with anyone watching; the slashes on my arm can't be ignored and Dwayne won't fail to notice them. I lean back against the wall behind my bed and wait for Dwayne to speak.

"Had a good summer?" he asks, a grin lighting up his face. He's a quiet guy, but there's a wicked, biting sense of humour inside the soft exterior and he's not as naïve as he pretends to be. Sometimes a little slow, yes, but I've always wondered if he does that deliberately to fool people into thinking he's not the full dollar. I've often glimpsed the quick-witted genius beneath the happy-go-lucky exterior and I have to say he's a brilliant mastermind. If he ever tried to take over the world he would be the first super villain to succeed. Overall, though, he is a sweet and caring person, that part isn't play-acting. I shrug in answer to his question, giving him a more accurate idea than most.

"It wasn't so great." He nods in understanding. Out of my few friends, he is the one I open up to most, but that's still not a great deal. I haven't told him about the beatings, but I think he's guessed. He seems to understand more than I'm telling him, at any rate. He gives me a reassuring smile.

"At least you're back with us now, though." Again, I nod. He continues. "What was Varsity like?" He seems genuinely curious.

"It wasn't that great. The whole team resented me," I give a bitter smile "not that I'm not used to that, but at least they ignored me. I was glad about that."

"It seemed to us that they were treating you like some kind of slave or servant or something."

I shake my head. "No, they only acted like that in front of Charlie, just to annoy him. When he wasn't around they left me alone and I was able to survive adequately. The frequent visits to you guys helped."

Dwayne's smile falters and a guilty expression crosses his face. "Not everyone welcomed you back, though."

"I know, and that's not your fault. Some people just aren't willing to accept that there are other teams I can play for, they don't realise that the Ducks don't mean everything to me." I see Dwayne's shoulders droop and hastily amend my answer. "But that doesn't mean I'll forget my friends, it just means that if an offer for a better team comes up I'll take it, if it'll help my career. I have to move forward with time. We can't go through life clinging onto our childhood, eventually we'll all have to grow up." He nods in agreement to my words.

"There are other people on the team that could do with that kind of logic, it would certainly solve a lot of the arguments we seem to constantly have."

I nod slightly. "Charlie in particular could do with this kind of sound advice. When he accepted Riley's challenge last year and had a go at me I realised just how much he's changed. I didn't expect him to lash out at a friend...but maybe I was never his friend. He's never really accepted me since I returned from Varsity." At the mention of Charlie, Dwayne's face becomes carefully blank and I know he's hiding something.

"Charlie's attitude has always been 'my way or the highway', you can't change that Adam." I'm rather startled by the hardness in his voice and momentarily wonder what has passed between the two to have caused such a reaction from the easy-going Dwayne. Before I have a chance to ask, however, he changes the subject.

"How's your wrist?"

I shift slightly, suddenly uncomfortable. Does he know anything? What did he see when he walked into the room? I pause, carefully considering my answer. "It's much better, than it was, but still sore. It's still quite weak and I end up spraining it a lot, but it's on the mend, or so the doctor says." Okay, so the doctor bit was an outright lie, but I can't get my wrist seen to while my arm is in this state. It's true that it's still not fully healed, though. Dwayne seems to accept my answer, however, and I breathe a sigh of relief. "So," I begin, "how was your vacation?" It was the right question to ask. His face suddenly breaks into a grin and I smile unconsciously at the transformation in my best friend. He sits up and eagerly begins to tell me all about his holiday at his cousin's ranch. His parents have a ranch too, but they only breed horses. His cousins, however, breed cattle and buffalo. They get to charge around rounding up the cattle (which has always been a favourite pastime of Dwayne's) and they make money by opening up the ranch to visitors who pay a great deal of money to stay for a weekend and catch buffalo. Dwayne's cousins sound like a fun group of people and I realise that I enjoy listening to him talk about his family and the things he gets up to during his holidays. It makes me realise what I'm missing and I'm momentarily angry, but Dwayne's enthusiasm and obvious love for his family dissolve my jealousy. I sit for maybe two hours, listening to Dwayne talk, soaking up emotions and memories that aren't mine, which never will be.

As I sit in the dining hall that evening, eating my first meal at Eden Hall, I dwell on the holiday. All around me are the other Ducks, chattering away and glad to return to school and their friends. I'm the only one, it seems, who has other reasons for wanting to come back. They're all now talking to me again, previous discomforts forgotten or swept under the carpet. It's almost like the old days again, all of us sitting around talking and laughing excitedly. It would seem that they've all banished the memories of their ill treatment of me, but I haven't. I've forgiven, but I can never forget.

I look around at all the happy people; the laughing faces and wonder how many are as false as mine. How many people are like me? It feels like I'm the only one in the world, but am I really alone? Are there others in this room with a past like mine? Do these supposedly content lives actually exist? Or is everything a lie? My whole existence has been one huge cover-up. I've spent years avoiding both questions and people: the school nurse, the guidance councillors, my friends...I even tried not having friends, for a while they were too much trouble. I've always found their petty squabbles meaningless, although I suppose in their world they're the most important things to them. They seem to need the arguments to sustain themselves. I'd rather have a life of silence-it's all I've ever wanted and why shouldn't I have it? Why is everyone else allowed an easy ride through reality? I let my fork clatter to my plate and rise from the table, throwing my napkin down and turning to leave the dining hall. I hear someone call my name, I think it was Charlie, but I ignore him and carry on, not quite sure where I'm going. Eventually I find that I've unconsciously walked back to the dorms. Sighing, I open the door to mine and Fulton's room and make for the bathroom, confused. I'm still not sure why I left in such a hurry, my mind was in such a mess...it still is...I don't know what happened, I just...lost it, I suppose, in my own way. That was my equivalent of an outburst. What's going on? I give a cry of frustration and slump to the floor, punching it in anger. Why can't I forget, like I always have? Why can't I carry on like everything's normal, like I'm just like all the other people? Why the sudden change? What's caused it? I knot my fingers into my hair in anguish and shut my eyes against the tears. It was inevitable, but I didn't expect it so soon. All the self-hatred, the despair, the disgust come flooding back and burn into me, scorching my insides with feelings I don't want, can't deal with. It's too much I have to...

I run back into the bedroom, frantically searching through the bags I've yet to unpack, each passing second now an unearthly torture I can't ignore. I actually smile as I come across what I'm looking for, removing it carefully from where I had stowed it the night before...the last thing I had packed. I walk to the bathroom in a daze, turning the penknife over and over in my trembling hands, hardly daring to think, not wanting to disturb the trance. I sit on the edge of the bath and close my eyes, hating myself for what I'm about to do, for being so weak. My breath catches in a sob as I press the ice-cold edge of the knife against my skin, feeling the throbbing pulse vibrate through the bitter metal. There's only one more step to take; one movement and the barrier will be broken...

I jump violently as the bedroom door slams open, followed by Fulton's bellow.

"Yo, Banksie! Where you got to?"

I swiftly stow the knife in the bathroom cabinet and turn my back on it, wiping my damp cheeks with the back of my hand. I open the door and stick a painfully fake grin on my face.

"Hey Fulton...what-what's wrong?" He starts, not expecting me to be in the bathroom and turns to look at me, his expression bewildered.

"What was that all about in the dining hall just now?"

I shrug, trying to act like I don't know what he's talking about. "About? It wasn't about anything. I...felt sick, must've been the steak..." I attempt a weak laugh. "That's the last time I listen to Goldberg." Fulton frowns, I can see he doesn't believe me, but I make my expression as sincere as possible. Someone once told me I had the most honest face they'd ever seen, something about my eyes...I don't know what they were talking about...every time I look into the mirror I see a liar. I see eyes that are blank and expressionless and I see the face of a weak, lying, pathetic-

"Are you sure you're all right Adam?" he's concerned again; I can hear it in his voice. I'm prevented from having to dispel his uncertainty, however, by Portman bursting into the room a wide grin splitting his face.

"Hey Fulton, man, ready for a little curfew breaking?" He cries, ignoring my presence. Not that I'm bothered, I just want to be alone. Please, go, I find myself thinking, go and leave me in peace. Fulton looks uncertain, his eyes flickering between Portman and myself. I can see that he desperately wants to go and decide to take matters into my own hands for a change.

"Yeah, why don't you go, Fulton? I'll cover for you if anyone asks. Go and have some fun."

Portman gives me a grateful smile and joins in. "Oh come on man, live a little! It's been ages since we did anything fun together. Please, come out? It'll be fun, I promise..." He widens his eyes and pouts. Fulton groans.

"Aw geez-not with the eyes..." His defences are weakening and Portman, knowing this, grins again. He's already won this fight. Fulton sighs resignedly. "Okay, I'll get my coat." Portman whoops in jubilation.

"All right! Let's go!" He waits while Fulton goes in search of his jacket and, grinning, gives me the thumbs-up sign.

"Nice one Banksie, I owe you!"

"No problem. Just bring me back something decent to drink, all right?"

"Sure thing. Any requests?" I just shrug.

"You choose." Portman frowns.

"Is everything okay?"

"Great." I reply, turning away towards the bathroom again, the sarcasm only evident to me, I hope. Portman decides to wait in silence instead, and I lock the door behind me, sitting against it until I hear their muffled voices leave the room. I let my head fall back against the door, tiredness making it ache. I'm always tired...I can't afford to sleep...it's not safe at home...

Forcing myself to stand I reach towards the shower and turn it on, waiting until the tiny room fills with steam, leaving only to retrieve a towel. I stand under the pouring water, letting it run through my hair and over my face, gathering in my eyelashes and making them heavy. I look to my feet, my eyes drawn to the plughole, watching the dirt wash away, feeling my skin being gently cleansed...but it won't ever be truly clean...I won't ever be clean...there's no water for the soul...no cure for people like me...I remember the knife hidden in the cabinet...


	3. Betrayal

I step from the bathroom, making for my bed. The cuts are clean; the water washed away the blood...the memory will always stain though...

I retrieve the bandages from this morning, wrapping them swiftly around my arm, the movements deft from long practise. Pinning the ends neatly, I lean back against the wall and close my eyes, sighing. It has to stop, it's killing me, and I know it is, but if I don't do this I'll go mad. It helps me to deal with everything throws at me, gives me a better sense of who I am and what I could be...but they're just dreams, it won't ever happen...I'll never achieve my dreams, because that's all they are-dreams. They're not meant to be real. Wishes don't come true, I learned that as a kid when I wished that my life was someone else's, but it didn't happen. I would wake up in my room morning after morning and silently scream at God for making me live, for giving me the life that no one else wanted...it wasn't fair...I lost all faith in religion...how could someone supposedly so 'kind', 'all-knowing' and 'benevolent' hate a kid so much that he gave him an abusive father, violent brothers, a weak, useless mother?

A slow, quiet knocking at the door interrupts my condemning thoughts. Annoyed at the interruption, but curious, I rise and open it, surprised to find Charlie standing out in the corridor.

"Hey Adam, mind if I come in?"

"Um...no, not at all..." I'm rather speechless at his appearance, but interested in the motives behind it. Why is Charlie at my dorm room? I suppose he wants to talk, but what about, and why to me? Sure we're friends, but it's never been as close a relationship as the one between Dwayne and me. He sits on my bed and I catch the stare he gives me. I realise that I'm still dressed only in a towel, but it doesn't bother me. Why should it? The times we've been in the same showers together, the whole team wandering around the changing rooms in nothing but towels and occasionally in the nude (that was mostly Fulton and Portman, until Bombay caught them and threatened to report them for indecent exposure), with the exception of Connie and Julie, which is understandable, although Luis was disappointed to say the least.

I smile at Charlie, sitting beside him. "So" I ask, "what's on your mind?"

Charlie looks straight at me, his gaze unnervingly piercing, as though he's searching for something. "You." He answers, continuing to stare. I shift uncomfortably. There's something in the way he's looking at me that makes me feel...odd, almost like I'm being assessed for something...

"...Oh..." I'm lost for words, it wasn't the answer I was expecting, but I don't know what was. "Why?"

Charlie shrugs and finally drops his gaze. "Just wondering if you're alright. You left in kind of a hurry at dinner."

"Yeah...I'm fine..." What's he playing at? He's never been bothered before, why now? He reaches out and puts a hand on my arm, making me shiver. My discomfort is growing, but I don't know why. How could a friend make me feel like...like...like my father does? And why? What is it about him that makes a shiver of filth creep across my skin? I want so much to pull away, but his fingers have closed about my arm, bruising me. I try to protest, but Charlie puts a finger to my lips, hushing me. I frown. "Charlie, what are you...?" He cuts me off and I begin to wonder at the wisdom of letting him into the room. A thrill of fear trickles down my spine. What have I done? A predatory glint is shining in his eyes, a sparking light that causes my knees to weaken and my stomach to wrench into knots of fright. I feel like I'm going to throw up, but he's right in front of me, trapping me...

"Don't be scared Banksie, it won't hurt..."

"What...?"

"Come on...I know it's not your first time...I know all about your dad..." I jump and sit bolt upright. How does he...? An ugly smirk pulls at his face, his teeth glinting in the dim lamplight. I'm trembling violently, the blood's pounding in my head. I don't want to understand what he's saying; my mind is rebelling at his words. How did everything change so quickly?

"Don't worry Banksie, it's all right...I'll make it all go away..."

I shuffle away from him and feel the chill surface of the wall against my bare back...there's nowhere for me to go...

"Don't fight it Adam." I shudder at the use of my name. Coming from him it sounds wrong, like it belongs to someone else...but at the same time it makes the scene more real...more personal...I close my eyes and turn away from him. My throat closes over, I can't speak, can't tell him no...he puts out a hand and runs it through my hair, his fingers rough and harsh, dragging at my scalp, making my head ache. I feel tears gather in my eyes.

"Crying? Banksie, I never knew I meant that much to you." The smirk evolves into a killer's grin and I whimper, trying to slide backwards off the bed. But Charlie seizes the opportunity and forces me down, his fingers clawing at my flesh, leaving gleaming trails of blood.

"You can't fool me, I know you want it...I know what you are...I can make you forget..." But I know in my heart that I'll never forget. There are things you can't shut away, no matter how hard you try; I should know.

"You'll thank me for this." He mutters into my ear, his breath hot and rapid. I make a last bid for freedom, pushing at him, trying to rise, but it's useless. He's smaller than me but stockier; I'm not strong enough...He snarls and twists his fingers into my hair, pulling my head back and exposing my throat. For one, unreal moment I think he's going to bite me. "Tut tut Adam, you don't think I'd let you away without a little...kiss?" I squirm frantically. I don't want this, don't deserve this. But Charlie's determined. I cringe as he clamps his mouth onto mine, his hands gripping the back of my head, forcing me against him. He pulls away and I taste blood on my lips, feel raw pain pulsing through them. He grins, his teeth stained a hellish red and I sink back against the bed, the fight over. He's won, and he knows it.

"That's better, now, isn't it? It's so much easier when you're willing..." I feel the towel slide from my waist and close my eyes. He's going to take that last part of me, the only part I hold dear: respect for my friends. I can feel the tears hot on my face, but I don't scream. I've learned not to.

I hear the door close but don't get up. I can't. Humiliation burns my insides and I bury my face in the duvet, crying uncontrollably. He's left me with nothing. I can never feel the same about anyone again, let alone Charlie Conway. He's deceived me, taken away my rights as a human, made me into something less than an animal...an object, a thing to be pawed at will, taken up when he feels like it and ignored when he doesn't need me. I could report this, I know I should, but what would I say? What would others say? That I deserved it? That I should be used to it? If I let this get out, he would not only deny it, he would tell them the truth about my family, about the things my own father does to me...I couldn't handle it. I did think nothing could be worse than what he's just done to me, but the repercussions of a charge against him would be much worse than anything he's put me through already. No. I'll keep my silence; deal with it in my own way, as always. I don't know how long I've been lying here, discarded and forgotten, curled into myself for the warmth no person can now give me. The tears never stopped, like the blood. It's everywhere...there are cuts, bruises...both new and old...the slashes on my arm have opened up again, the welts on my back are sore, I'm sure they're bleeding, the buckle marks surrounded by a mass of black and purple skin.

It wasn't the first time my father used a belt on me...his favourite is the one with the sunburst buckle...the one that hurts the most; leaves the worst marks. I can't remember what it was I did or said...probably nothing. He's never needed a reason, much like Charlie...

I barely flinch as the door opens once more...I knew he'd be back. They always are. I tremble as warm arms cover my bare skin, unusually gentle. That's not Charlie...it can't be. I'm too dazed to care. Someone pulls me up and wraps me in warmth; I realise now that I'm shivering violently, my teeth chattering. A face swims into my vision, vague and indistinct at first. I force my brain to concentrate and it materialises into Dwayne. His eyes are wide and horrified, he's crying and saying something to me. I shake my head, I don't understand. All I know is that I don't want to be touched. I don't want anyone near me. His face creases in anguish as I shuffle away...I begin to make sense of his words...

"Please, Adam." He sobs. "Let me help...I'm so sorry, oh God I'm so sorry!" I understand his words, but they still don't make any sense. His expression is horrified as he looks at me. "What has he done?" He reaches out to the bite marks covering my chest and neck, harsh and bright over the sombre black bruising of my brothers' parting gifts. I pull away, ashamed, drawing my knees up to my chest. I can't look at him and I feel my face flush. It's happened before, yes, but no one's ever found out...except Charlie. I can't bear to see Dwayne's expression, I know what I'll find-disgust, loathing, maybe even hate. Yes, that's what I'll see. Hate. He'll despise me for being so weak and useless, he'll be disgusted by me, by what I let happen. It's all my fault, I shouldn't have-

"Adam?" His voice interrupts my thoughts and I raise my head a little, but not enough to meet his eyes. I can't face that, not now, maybe even not ever. "Adam, I know what he did...you have to let me help you. Please, Adam, you're bleeding..." He tugs at my arms and when he doesn't meet any resistance pulls me from the bed, leading me to the bathroom. I sit silently on the edge of the bath as he runs water into the tub. I've already taken a shower, but I'm no longer clean. The stench of Charlie coats my skin, reminding me endlessly of the betrayal, the pain...I watch the water rise, imagine sliding beneath it, never surfacing again...Dwayne helps me to stand and I allow the blanket he put there earlier to slide from my shoulders. I'm not bothered. It was Dwayne who found me, Dwayne who saw me curled naked against the world, Dwayne...

"Dwayne?" My voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. He smiles through his tears as I murmur his name, glad that I'm becoming aware of my surroundings once more. His sweet, honest face lights up and I blink slowly, reality crashing around me, bringing my senses back to me. I begin to surface from the bubble of shock that protected me against the harsh, jangling reality of what just happened. I stumble backwards, tearing at my own hair. "Help me!" I'm screaming, my voice rising in horror. I call out to my only solace. "Please Dwayne, help me!" I'm weeping hot tears of shame, reaching out for a rock in the midst of my raging storm. Dwayne's face crumbles in misery as he's hit by the full torrent of my distress. He pulls me into the safety of his arms, rocking me like a child while I weep on his shoulder, gripping his shirt in my fists and smothering my cries of endless torture, trying desperately to escape. The wounds go deeper, the tears come from much more than Charlie's assuming violation of my body. Years of hate, pain, anger and depression hit me before I can prepare myself. It's more than I've ever had to handle. I feel like I'm being torn in two, a burning, towering rage conflicting with the deep, aching pain; all locked away for as long as I can remember, released by one selfish act perpetrated by someone I thought was a friend. Dwayne continues to comfort me, hushing me and murmuring meaningless words in my ears until my shock and terror pass.

I'm leaning against him, breathless from the shaking, violent sobs. The tiles of the bathroom floor are cold and smooth against my feet, the walls a gentle, calming aquamarine. Watching the reflection of the bathwater shifting over the tranquil colour I feel myself sink into a surprising state of calm. Dwayne shifts, pulling me away from him. I'm taller than him, I notice absently, but that didn't seem to matter, he gave me the one thing I needed. I wipe my eyes on the back of my hand, sniffing.

"Sorry Dwayne, I didn't mean to-"He cuts me off with a shake of his head.

"It doesn't matter, Adam. What matters is that at last I'm here for you." He smiles softly and prods me towards the bath. "Now, get in." I give a watery smile and dip a toe into the water. It's lovely and warm and I quickly slip in, wincing as the various cuts, welts and bruises sting at the contact. Dwayne kneels beside the tub, taking up a sponge and handing it to me. I give him a significant stare, but he shrugs.

"No way, I'm not leaving you here alone Adam."

"I'll be fine."

"I don't care, I don't want to leave you again." He watches as my eyes stray towards Fulton's razor sitting between the taps and frowns. "I don't know what's been going on here, but I intend to find out." I look back at him, my expression one of guilt. He just blinks slowly, his eyes never wavering from mine. "You need my help Adam. Please, just accept it?" I look away, unable to answer. It'll cost me too much to relate to him everything...the poison runs too deep, it's already killing me...it can't be drawn out.


	4. Life of Adam

Dwayne turns as I step from the bath, handing me my towel over his shoulder.

"Thanks." I mutter grudgingly. I quickly pull on a pair of boxers, picking up my t-shirt and heading for the door. He follows wordlessly, his presence both comforting and unnerving. I don't know if I'll ever feel safe again, not even around my friends. I can't trust anyone now, all I see behind their kind faces are snarling, grinning visions of Charlie...I'll never be free, not while I'm still alive...

I halt in the centre of the room, staring at my bed. I can't go near it; just the sight of it causes the shame and disgust to well up again. I can't breathe, I'm suffocating, my face is buried in cloying darkness, there are hands...from past and present...grabbing, clawing, bruising...I shake my head to rid it of the vivid memories, my hands balling into fists. Dwayne lays a comforting hand on my shoulder but I flinch and jump away, staring around wildly. But all I see is my old friend giving me a sorrowful look, his eyes glimmering with the pain of rejection.

"I'm sorry." I whisper, hanging my head, but he just shrugs.

"It's okay Adam, I understand..." He seems about to say something, but changes his mind and closes his mouth indecisively, sighing. "You can't sleep in that bed tonight." A simple statement, and achingly true. I just shake my head, still mercifully numb. I can't sleep in that bed ever, not with the memories it now holds. "What about Fulton's bed?"

"I don't...I need to ask..." My voice is quiet, little more than a whispering murmur. Dwayne just disregards my answer with a curt wave of his hand.

"He won't mind, I'll explain. Tomorrow we can see if you can move rooms...if you want?" I just shake my head, staring resolutely at the floor. He pauses for a moment, the silence tense, but then turns and begins to shift Fulton's things from the bed he chose. It's hard to believe that we've only been back for one day and this is our first night...one that will always stay in my memory...

"Adam?" His voice interrupts my thoughts. I slowly look at him and he points to the bed, the covers of which are turned down. It looks comfortable and inviting, the pillows full and soft. I battle with the fear rising within me and slowly make my way towards it, all the while keeping my gaze on Dwayne. He's hurt by my mistrust, but I can't help it. It's not just my body that's bruised and beaten, it's my soul as well. As I climb into the bed Dwayne disappears into the bathroom, returning with a first-aid box in his hands. I give him an enquiring look and he nods towards the tiny room behind him.

"It's mandatory, every room has to have a kit under the bathroom sink." I didn't know that. The thought of why or how Dwayne knows about the first-aid kits never enters my head.

"What are you going to do with it?"

"Wrap up the worst of your cuts." He sits on the bed beside me and asks me to turn around. I comply and hear him open the box. A cold cream is spread on the long cuts striping my back, causing the breath to hiss between my teeth. He pauses, allowing me to relax before he applies more. "This is to get rid of infection. If the wounds get dirty you could get blood poisoning, which is very dangerous and potentially fatal." He squeezes my arm slightly. "We can't afford to lose our star player." I close my eyes and sigh wearily.

"Please Dwayne, I don't want to think about hockey right now."

"...Sorry." He continues to apply the cooling, soothing cream, taking only five minutes to finish the job. I wait while he rattles around the interior of the first-aid kit, pulling out a few rolls of bandages after a brief struggle with some loose band-aids.

"Okay Adam, this'll hurt but I have to do it." He indicates a chair by the bed. "You'll have to sit on that, so I can reach round you." Without speaking or making any indication that I've heard him, I stand and place myself gingerly on the hard-backed chair. I ache everywhere; pain shooting through every joint and muscle, causing my head to swim for a moment. Dwayne touches my shoulder lightly.

"You all right?" I nod, shaking off his hand as I do so. I hear him heave a small, sad sigh and take up a roll of bandages, stripping off the cellophane and peeling the end from the roll. I feel his finger press against the centre of my back, holding the soft cotton down. He leans around me, slowly wrapping the white bindings around my back and chest, pulling them tightly and covering the vivid gashes well. I sit motionless through the operation, keeping my mind carefully blank. I'm thinking only about the most trivial of matters, probing any deeper would reopen the emotional wounds, shattering my mind and soul further. A blank mind is what keeps me sane.

Dwayne securely fastens the ends of the bandage and tells me I can return to the bed. I can tell there's something on his mind: he seems preoccupied and twitchy. I slide into it once more, feeling the tightness of the cuts on my back and the dampness of blood. I wonder dimly as I settle myself gingerly against the pillows if they'll ever heal, but dismiss the thought as ridiculous. Of course they'll heal, I've still got the scars from previous beltings; scars that won't ever fade...like many of the marks marring my body. I shift over slightly as Dwayne seats himself on the bed beside me, his silence unsettling. I feel sorry that I've done this to him. I never intended to hurt such a sweet person, but I can't help it. It's all Charlie's fault, it always is. Just like when he fought me last year during the early morning JV-Varsity match he deliberately slammed his stick down on my wrist, knowing it was still healing. It meant that I had to be benched for the next three matches; another letdown for a team that already hated me. Nobody saw, of course. Getting caught isn't Charlie's style. I doubt if anyone would have cared anyway...Almost as though my thoughts summoned Dwayne's attention, he stirs and speaks.

"We need to talk Adam."

I'm reluctant to agree. "About what?"

"You know what." He reaches across and picks up my right arm, his hand warm. I notice that I'm oddly cold. He turns my wrist so that the scars catch the light, shining with an unearthly, pearly shine. They seem strangely beautiful, the contrast of the fresh, purple gashes breaking them viciously. I can't look at them, can't stand what they represent. I turn my head and look away, tears welling in my eyes once again.

"Why are you doing this to me Dwayne? Why are you torturing me?"

"I'm not trying to hurt you, I want to help...I...I know what you're going through." Why has it cost him such a great deal to say this? And what does he mean? How could he possibly know what's in my head? I turn back to him and see that he has his head in his hands, tears leaking through his fingers. It's the one thing that brings back to me the memory of who he is. He's not someone to be afraid of, he's a friend, and right now it looks like he needs me. The irrational fear drains from me and I stop trembling, no longer uncomfortable around him. As I reach out a tentative hand, he pulls away and jumps from the bed, his face shining with tears.

"Don't, Adam. You don't want...I can't..." He turns his back on me and folds his arms protectively across his chest. What's happening? A moment ago it was I recoiling from him and now here he is running from me? I rise from the bed once more and move towards him, my hand reaching for his shoulder. He has composed himself swiftly and turns before I can step closer. My hand drops to my side at the look in his eyes. His face is calm, but there is turmoil writhing in the blue depths-the windows to a disturbed soul.

"Dwayne?"

"It's like I said, we need to talk." I pause, and then nod. But before we can go any further the door to the room opens and Fulton walks in, yawning and carrying a decidedly heavier backpack than the one he left with that clinks when he slips it from his back. He doesn't immediately notice that anything's wrong, but as he closes the door behind him and looks into the room he frowns and I realise just how odd the scene must look to him. Dwayne and I are standing side by side, my chest is swathed in bandages and I'm covered in cuts, bruises and teeth marks, and Dwayne isn't even meant to be in our room. He drops his bag on the floor and rushes towards me.

"Jesus Adam, that's one hell of a fight you've been in! Can't I leave you alone for a few hours without anyone beating you up?" He turns his attention towards Dwayne, immediately aggressive. "Was it you? I'll mutilate you, you little-"

I cut him off before he says something he'll definitely regret. "Calm down Fulton, it wasn't Dwayne, half of it wasn't even from tonight." My voice is weary.

"So you were beaten up tonight? If I find out who it was I'll-"

Again I stop him mid-sentence. "Relax Fulton." I sigh and look at Dwayne, who shrugs.

"Maybe you should tell him the full story before he does anything and then let him decide what he's going to do?" I nod slowly in agreement, still reluctant to dredge up the dreadful memories I'll have to in order to tell them everything they want to know. But my trust has been restored, Dwayne has made sure of that. Fulton is looking slightly confused and I sigh resignedly.

"...Okay..." I indicate the floor. "We should sit down, this'll take a while." Thank God tomorrow's a Saturday. Term usually starts on a Monday, but students turn up the Friday before so that they can spend the weekend adjusting to school life again. Those who don't board just come back on the first day, obviously. I ease myself onto the floor with a groan, crossing my legs beneath me and waiting for the other two to follow suit. They seem surprised, but sit on the floor anyway, casting curious glances at each other. Fulton is the most astonished, as he hasn't witnessed anything of the last four hours, but Dwayne is mostly surprised that I've decided to open up at last.

We're all sitting in a huddle on the plush carpet, Fulton and Dwayne staring at me whilst I sit motionless, putting my thoughts in order. There's no sound other than those of various students running up and down the corridors, shouting to each other and laughing happily. Their emotions are completely alien to me. Vaguely I wonder if I've ever experienced true happiness, if I've ever let loose a genuine laugh. No such moment stands out in my mind and I sigh, breaking the silence of the charged atmosphere. It acts as a signal to Fulton, who clears his throat and speaks into the thick gloom.

"What's been going on Adam? This morning you said I'd got the wrong idea, but I don't think I have. You're keeping something from me, I know you are." His expression is one of mild hurt. "I would've thought you could put your trust in me by now. We came to the team at the same time, years ago, both as outsiders and both rejected by the others." The reproving look deepens. "I thought our friendship meant something to you, but obviously I was wrong." Guilt surges through me and I hang my head.

"I'm sorry Fulton, really I am...but there are some things that can't be shared...not without consequences..." He looks confused. It's time to talk, but where do I start? With my life or with Charlie? Making a quick decision, I take a deep breath and prepare myself for the trials ahead.

"Tonight, after you and Portman left, Charlie came to the room." Fulton is clearly trying to be patient, but he can't see where this is going. Dwayne just looks at him and nods once to show that this will have a point and conclusion. I continue. "I'd just come out of the shower, I was tired and not thinking clearly...I let him into the room without asking questions."

"Why would you-?" Dwayne hushes him swiftly.

"I realise now how stupid it was but how was I supposed to know at the time? He looked distracted and was acting strangely...I thought there was something wrong, but I can see that it was all just an act." I close my eyes, the wisdom of hindsight torturously painful. "I wish I'd seen through him at the beginning..." I pause a moment, waiting for my eyes to clear and the trembling to stop. "He was staring at me constantly, sizing me up...I was getting uncomfortable and tried to distance myself from him, but he changed...suddenly...but all the time he was in control of his actions, I know that for certain.

I wish now that I'd thought to get dressed, or at least to keep my distance, but I don't suppose it would've made a difference...he may have enjoyed a challenge..."

"Adam..." Fulton's voice is unsure; he's desperately trying to avoid the message behind my words. "What're you saying? What happened? Did he hit you?"

"Amongst other things."

"What?"

I sigh, my voice wavering. "Charlie...he...he raped me, Fulton." From the corner of my vision I see Dwayne lower his head; even he's startled by the frankness of my admission. Fulton is sitting with his mouth open, his eyes wide and shocked. I may have released that one secret to him, but it's not going to make the others any easier. The silence doesn't last for long, as Dwayne speaks up, his voice thick.

"It was me who found him. He was on the bed where Charlie left him, bleeding and crying. Charlie was very...rough with him, but..." I decide to take over.

"Not all these marks were made by him." I indicate the cuts, slashes and the bandages. "I know you've been suspicious about these marks, but you don't know the full story..." again a lengthy silence ensues. Fulton eventually speaks.

"Why don't you tell me?"

"I will, but please, be patient with me...I've never told anyone...it's something I've held onto for years..." I take another deep breath.

"It started when I was about five. My father used to play hockey until he was injured and so he forced me and my brothers to play, but he wanted us to become greater than he ever was, so he was always pushing us to our limits...but I was never as good as my brothers. I was never what he wanted me to be...no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't please him.

"My father's always had a violence problem...ever since I can remember he's beaten me...usually with anything that comes to hand...but he left my brothers alone...they've always been good at hockey, my oldest brother's got NHL tryouts in a week, the other was a Hawk in Pee-wee, like me and he's gone on to a university team...I've always had to compete with them. When I had to join the Ducks he was so disappointed in me, like it was my fault the boundary lines had been changed." This is harder than anything I've ever had to face, including returning home every holiday. I know I'm crying, but don't care...it's one more way to release the pain. "My brothers picked up his habits, of course...his violence...they're older than me, stronger. The one sport they found they enjoyed more than hockey was beating me up, and he lets them. He's even proud of them for what they do...calls them 'real men', not like their pansy of a brother who can't even play properly..." Fulton shifts angrily, fuming with impotent rage at my family. "You learn to get used to the beatings; after all, bones heal, bruises fade...but there are some things that push a person beyond their endurance..." I shake my head, the old feeling of being unclean returns with a vengeance. "I grew up quickly, I had to...in fact I can pinpoint it to one particular day...my eighth birthday.

"I didn't have a party, I had few friends, but even if I did have a lot of them I wouldn't have had a celebration...how do you celebrate another year of a life like mine?" I shake my head, my tone becoming bitter. "My parents remembered my birthday, but disregarded it. I didn't expect anything else. There were a few cards from relatives who remembered me, but no other indication that the day was different to any other...but it would become so, so different...

"I was in bed, half asleep when he came into my room. I remember the door shutting ever so quietly and wondering who was coming in to see me. I even hoped, foolishly, that maybe someone had at last come to say goodnight, to tuck me up and kiss my forehead warmly, lovingly. I opened my eyes and saw the dim outline of my father walking towards the bed, I sat up to switch the light on, but he stopped me, taking my hand in his..." I shudder, the tears becoming heavier; a sob chokes me and I try to stifle it. "I'll never forget what he made me do...it was the first night of my adulthood. I had grown up in the space of an hour...one long, torturous hour in which my own father raped me repeatedly, groping and pawing, his hands hot and sweaty..." My voice breaks in disgust and I begin to weep inconsolably. Dwayne and Fulton sit motionless, aghast. I have to try and console myself as neither of them want to have anything to do with me, but its impossible. I wait for the sobs to subside a little and look up through my tears, holding out my arm. They both stare at the hundreds of scars covered by fresher, darker cuts, including the ones made last night.

"This is the only way I can deal with it...I've been self-harming since I was nine...the abuse has never stopped...every time I go home I blockade my bedroom door in the hope that I'll get one night of peace, but he always gets in...there's no stopping him...during the day I have to go out around the streets to avoid my brothers, but the beatings still happen...there's no escape..." My voice trails off and I hang my head, unwilling to look at my friends, afraid of what I'll see. I'm startled out of my despondent reverie when a pair of arms encircles me, their intense grip comforting. I finally let go of all the pain and despair and cry unrestrainedly onto Dwayne's shoulder for the second time tonight. He soothes me gently, allowing my rending sobs to shake us both, never once saying anything. Fulton stands in the background, bewildered, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. He looks slightly helpless, but it doesn't matter to me. He's already done enough just by being here, that's all I care about...they're here for me...


	5. Damaged Goods

**Disclaimer: **As before, I don't own any of the characters or places, obviously; although if I did I would be very rich by now.

**Warning: **The following chapters contain or refer to violence as well as physical and/or sexual abuse. There are no graphic/explicit scenes, but there may be descriptions of self-harm.

I stare intently at a patch of silver moonlight drifting across the ceiling, waiting for Fulton to fall asleep. I know he's trying to stay awake and keep an eye on me...he's afraid I'll do something drastic as soon as he closes his eyes. He's probably right.

As I listen to the gentle snores beginning to rise from the floor, images flash through my mind; pictures of past and present merging into a terrible slideshow that I couldn't ever imagine in my worst nightmares. What can I do? There's no escape, no way to just leave the memories behind and carry on like nothing's happened...I can't do that this time. If only I had someone to confide in...I know I spent most of the night talking to Fulton and Dwayne, but it wasn't a heart-to-heart, more of a purging. The scars are still there, covered by the raw wounds inflicted tonight...much like the cuts on my arm.

Sighing, I roll onto my stomach and reach down into the bag beside my bed. Fulton's bundled into a sleeping bag on the floor, drooling contentedly onto his pillow. We both refused to sleep in the other bed and Fulton wouldn't let me sleep on the floor. Being careful not to wake him, I slowly slide a fat journal from my bag, along with a torch and a pen. Then, rolling right over again, I face the wall and pull the blankets up to dim the light from the torch. With something akin to reverence I flip open my journal, flicking gently through four years' worth of scribbled notes, drawings and photos...my album of memories.

I pause as I reach one page, dated two years ago. The paper is wrinkled and the writing smudged-a testament to my tears.

'_He came to me again last night, just like he has every night. I pushed my desk against the door, but he still got in. He was angry...I ought not to have blocked the door, he doesn't like it when I try to stop him coming in. I regretted it this morning-he beat me again, hitting me with his belt until I passed out. I woke up in the middle of the floor where he had left me, my back on fire. It's still too painful to move very far, but I can't get help. If I go to the hospital, they'll ask questions I won't want to answer, and if he finds out I went and told someone he'd kill me. I don't know how much more I can take...I feel like I'm being eaten up inside...but I can't talk to anyone about it. There's only one way I can deal with it, but it scares me. Why do I do this to myself? I don't understand it...I think I need help...'_

Even now I don't fully understand why more pain is the only way I can keep my mind together...and everything I do I document in this journal, which I fastidiously carry around with me everywhere. I turn the pages again, to another entry that sticks out in my mind. Again, the page is wrinkled, but this time it's also spattered with dark shadows-my own blood. The writing's terrible, rusty smudges smearing the ink. The words are badly formed, the script shaky. My hand was trembling badly, I can remember, the ache in my arm aggravated as I scraped fresh cuts over the paper in my desperation to put my thoughts into visible words, to force out all the pain, all the feeling.

After a slight hesitation, I turn to a new page and allow the pen to rest on the paper for a moment before writing.

'_Charlie's duplicity has left me full of rage and pain...he's hurt me, physically and emotionally. I trusted him, how could he do that to me? What did I do? Did I encourage him in any way? I didn't even know he felt that way...what about his girlfriend? If he did that to me, what does he do to her? Maybe it's all just an act...maybe he's not really into her at all...is everything a lie? I wish I knew. It's so hard now, I can't trust anyone, not even Fulton or Dwayne. They're hurt, but I can't stand to have anyone near me. All I can remember are Charlie and my dad ...I'm so afraid. Will Charlie do it again? I've got to go to practise tomorrow...I don't know if I can face him again...I don't know if I can ever face anyone again...And what's with Dwayne? I know he's hiding something, after all, I've done enough hiding myself. But what's his secret?'_

I lay down my pen, thinking. I was writing without forethought, just letting my soul guide my pen. But now I come to it, what is Dwayne's hidden facet? What is he concealing? Frowning, I close the journal and slip it under my pillow. At least now I've got something to distract me.

Five am, as is its wont, comes early the next morning. I rub my eyes blearily as Fulton's alarm clock blares painfully in my ear. I hadn't even realised I'd fallen asleep, but I guess I was pretty tired last night. I slide my hand beneath my pillow to check my journal's still there and then reach over to switch the alarm off. Fulton groans and raises his head from his sodden pillow.

"I was having a really nice dream...something about...marshmallows, I think" He looks back at the large damp patch and groans again, collapsing. I smile a little: Fulton can always bring a ray of humour to my day, no matter how bleak it may seem.

"We'd better get up, hockey practise starts in half an hour."

My voice is quiet and it takes a moment for my comment to register, but when it does Fulton sits up, suddenly wide-awake and staring at me. "You're really going?" His expression is incredulous.

"Of course, I can't let Orion down, can I?"

"What about Charlie?" It's a plain enough question, but a whole load of silent words hide behind that one sentence. I sigh.

"I don't know Fulton, but if I don't get onto the ice soon I'll go mad. I haven't played hockey all summer and now is my chance to get back to the one thing that, despite the circumstances, I love most. I can't let Charlie ruin everything for me."

Fulton gives me a slight grin. "That's the spirit Banksie! We'll show him, he won't stand a chance!"

I smile half-heartedly, my stomach churning sickeningly. However much I tell myself he won't get the better of me, I know he's already won.

There seems to be a new, ominous creak to the locker-room door as I push it open, squeaking over the clamour emanating from inside. Maybe it's just my imagination.

As I step into the room I'm enveloped by a familiar scene, one I've witnessed so many times before, and hope to see many times more. In one corner there's Connie and Julie, chatting animatedly as they pull on their padding (despite Orion's instructions that they should get changed in the girls' locker room), lined up along another bench are Russ, Goldberg and Averman, all debating last night's baseball game. Portman and Ken are flicking towels at each other, the snaps cracking over the general hubbub of the room, Guy's watching them, laughing and Dwayne's sitting in the furthest corner of the changing room quietly getting into his gear. He spots me and waves, a smile appearing on his face, but as I make to walk over, someone blocks my path. I stop dead in my tracks as I catch Charlie's sadistic grin, my knees immediately turning to water and threatening to collapse beneath me.

"You look tired, Adam. Late night last night?" He chuckles in a low, purring voice that no one else can hear, but as I stutter a reply, Fulton steps around me, not towering over him, but exuding a powerful presence that's nevertheless challenging the insolence in Charlie. He looks once at Fulton before turning his gaze to me, winking and retreating backwards. "Till tonight, sweetie." And, laughing, he walks back to where he's getting changed. I look around, watching everyone, but no one seems to have noticed a thing.

"Creep!" Hisses Fulton venomously, still standing slightly ahead of me, his eyes narrowed in a baleful glare. Still trembling, I hurry over to Dwayne and my new bodyguard follows, always keeping his eyes on Charlie. As I sit down, Dwayne turns to me.

"I saw what he did just then," He mutters, keeping his voice quiet. "Are you okay?"

I nod mutely, pulling my kit from my bag and beginning to change. I hurriedly pull my gear on, trying to hide from my team members, but unsuccessfully, it would seem.

"Hey, Banksie!" Guy calls over the uproar. "What'd you do to yourself?" It's a moment before I realise he's talking about the bandages still tightly wrapped around my chest. Flushing slightly, I'm only glad that they cover the worst of the bruising.

"Oh...I-I fell off a horse while I was on holiday...cracked a rib, but it's on the mend now." I feel Fulton and Dwayne stare at me, but no one else except them and Charlie knows I'm lying. I hold my breath, waiting for Charlie to speak up and tell them it's not true, that I was beaten senseless over the summer...but the voice never comes. Of course, I should have known. That's not Charlie's style. He'll use it as blackmail instead, a weak spot that he can build on and use to his advantage

"Should you be playing hockey then?" Asks Julie, her bright, catlike eyes wide with concern. I just nod.

"Yeah...the doctor said it would be better for me to exercise and work out the stiffness. It should be pretty much healed, it's just a matter of letting movement do the rest."

The rest of the team, who had stopped what they were doing when Guy called attention to me, immediately start calling out good wishes and go back to whatever they'd been doing before. I let out a huge sigh and fall back onto the bench, my face hot but my excuse accepted, for the time being.

Within a quarter of an hour we're on the ice and warming up before Orion arrives. I tentatively push forward across the rink; I'm a little stiff, but it only takes me a few minutes to ease the tension from my muscles and I'm off speeding around beside Guy, racing him to the goal, the enjoyment plain on both our faces. Laughing, he pulls forward a little.

"You'll have to try harder than that to beat me, Banksie!" He calls, his face now shining under his bright grin. I give him a mock salute and lean forward, taking the lead and streaking off ahead of him. I hear him give a shout of laughter and know that he's desperately trying to catch up. Grinning, I take the curve of the rink smoothly as it rolls up in front me...

Before I know what's happened I'm lying on the ice struggling to breathe whilst a cacophony of bells jangle in my head and ears. There are voices around me and I desperately try to make sense of them.

"Nice going Spazway, just injure Banksie on our first practise, why don't you?" But the voice is laughing slightly...I think it's Russ...

"I'm sorry, it was an accident!" I look up to see Charlie standing over me, a very convincing look of innocence and concern on his face. He turns to me. "Are you all right Adam?" He takes my arm and pulls me upright. As soon as I can stand, I yank myself free of his grip, an intense pain burning across my back.

"Fine, thanks." My voice is cold and yet shaken, my limbs rubbery and threatening to collapse.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Asks Julie, looking earnestly into my face. I smile slightly at her, trying not to grimace as the stinging gives a particularly vicious throb. She puts her arm around my waist and leads me slowly over to the bench. "Maybe you'd better sit down for a couple of minutes, give your rib a rest...that was a pretty nasty wallop you took" Yeah, no kidding. And it was no accident, either.

I only smile, gratefully this time, and skate with her to the bench. As I sit, I grab her hand. "Will you sit with me? Just a couple of minutes, until I'm better?" I feel I need her company right now

She gives me one of her sweet, shy grins and nods, seating herself beside me. I steal a glance at her as the warm-up continues, taking in her delicate profile. Maybe there's something more for me than hockey after all? I look back to the ice and see Charlie turn swiftly to catch my gaze and wave at me, giving a slow, secretive wink. I allow my head to drop. There can never be anything else. How can there be, with so many problems looming over me and spoiling every new experience with vivid memories or damaged emotions? I suppose that's what I am really...damaged goods...

"I'm ready to go back now." I mutter. I think Julie's startled at the change in my mood, but she makes no answer, just stands, helps me up and together we return to the ice. She skates off towards the goal, sending Goldberg into the locker room to get some pucks for practise. As I glide slowly round the rink, closely hugging the boards in case of another 'accident', Fulton skates over to join me.

"You okay?"

"I wish everyone would stop asking me that! It should be obvious to you that I'm about as far from 'okay' as it's possible to be!" I growl under my breath.

"...Sorry for caring."

I'm immediately repentant. "Oh Fulton...I didn't mean to be nasty...I'm just tired and hurt...and scared. I shouldn't take it out on you."

"It doesn't matter." He shrugs. "I can understand your reasons. All I wanted to do was ask how you are about being so close to Charlie again. You seemed to be shaking pretty bad when he came up to you in the locker room."

I snort. "Thanks for the vote of confidence Fulton." Frowning, I answer him. "Actually I'm terrified. I know I can't have someone protecting me twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week...it's only a matter of time before he comes after me again. And when he does, what will I do?"

"After I'm done with him he won't go near anybody again!" He murmurs, but I hush him swiftly.

"Violence only leads to violence, Fulton. And anyway, you shouldn't get involved."

"Too late."

"But this isn't your problem!"

"It shouldn't have to be yours either!"

I stop, realising our voices are rising above the soft whispers we'd been using and pause to calm down before answering, concentrating instead on the rhythmic hissing of my skates beneath me.

"Look, I don't want to talk about it right now."

"You were keen enough to talk last night."

I remain silent for a moment, my eyes burning with angry tears. "That was a cheap shot Fulton."

"I know...sorry...I didn't mean...I was angry..." He fails to form a proper sentence and gives up, shrugging instead and pulling away, skating towards the centre of the rink where the others are all gathering to kneel on the ice. Reluctantly I switch direction and follow him, pulling up behind Kenny and easing myself down onto one knee just as Orion clatters into the rink and skates towards us. Let the games begin.

"Right team, we'll start with the usual warm-ups, but then I thought we'd have a mini-match, just so that everybody gets a proper practise before next week's game and so that both goalies can get in some practise too."

"That's all right coach, I'm fine, I don't need any practise. I can't see you needing me today, so I'll just be on my-"

"Nice try Goldberg. Get back here and work for once. Now, everybody up and give me three laps while I set out the cones. Come on! Get going!" But he's grinning as he yells at us. We scramble upright and hasten to comply, grabbing our sticks and helmets from the various places we threw them when we arrived and begin speeding round the rink. Carrying my helmet in one hand and my hockey stick in the other, I concentrate only on the ice in front of me, always keeping an eye out for Charlie. He won't get me this time...

The warm-ups go well, or at least pass uneventfully. Fulton keeps a constant watch on me and is always right behind me, separating me from Charlie any time he tries to get near. This tactic becomes much harder, however, when we're split up to play against one another. Orion sorts the teams by numbering us all one or two. I'm on team one with Guy, Kenny, Portman, Julie and Dwayne and team two has got Russ, Connie, Charlie, Goldberg, Luis and Fulton. This is going to be bad.

"All right, face-off to start with, as always. I think we'll have Conway and Banks, just to add a little excitement. Our two star players against one another...it should be fun!" He smiles genially; having absolutely no idea what he's just done. "Now, let's have a good, clean match and show me plenty of those tactics I taught you last year! And don't forget-"

"Defence not just offence!" We chorus. He grins.

"Right! And remember to clear all the rubbish out from in front of the net people!" He drops a puck onto the ice in front of him. "Now, Banks and Conway, get over here and take the face-off." I make my way over with great reluctance, turning to bend over my hockey stick and concentrate on the small black puck before me. I glance up and meet Charlie's eyes glinting maliciously at me. I'm in way over my head here...

Charlie's steady gaze never wavers and I feel my muscles tighten, expecting an attack at any moment. Instead he contents himself with a slow, lazy smile and a muttered: "Good luck darling."

Before I can prepare myself, Orion's whistle echoes throughout the arena and he leaps out of the way. Reacting purely from instinct I swipe the puck away from Charlie and slide it down to Guy, who speeds off down the rink closely followed by the rest of our side and the other team of Ducks. I push forward, but one of my skates disappears from under me, throwing me onto the ice. Pain flares up in my right wrist as I throw it out to break my fall, despite the support bandage wrapped around it. I look up to see Charlie skating off laughing. Orion, it seems, hasn't noticed anything. Raising myself hurriedly, I race down the rink after him, ignoring the pain throbbing up my arm. As I near the goal I hear a call from my right and see Portman pass me the puck. Diving forward I scoop it up against my stick and rush forwards, faking twice and finally sending it flying in on the third pass. Goldberg makes a spectacular dive, but just misses. A cheer goes up and four sets of hands are clapping my on the back, making me wince slightly. I look around for Fulton and see him grin at me and give me the thumbs up sign. Smiling broadly, I return to the centre of the ice to wait for the face-off between Guy and Luis, not noticing Charlie skate up beside me. I feel him collide with me, however and catch myself as I stumble, just in time not to fall again. He skids to a sharp halt opposite me and laughs softly.

"Nice goal Banksie, but if you think you're going to last long enough to make another one you're mistaken. I **will** take you down."

My mouth has gone dry and I have to swallow several times before I can make a reply. "Why are you doing this to me?"

His expression suddenly takes on a much more sinister aspect and he snarls fiercely. "Because you told Dwayne about last night!" He hisses. "I had to put him in his place after that. I must say, he wasn't nearly as much fun as you, didn't have quite the same passive nature or pleading, helpless look. " My eyes widen in shock and I glance over to Dwayne, who's staring intently at Guy and Luis.

"What...?"

"He hasn't told you?" Charlie's voice is gleeful and he's about to say more, but the whistle goes before he can continue. With a last glance at each other, we push off and follow the puck, which has gone to the other Ducks team. I don't have time to wonder at Charlie's words, I'm too busy following him. He's calling for the puck and I see it zigzagging towards the goal between various players, towards Julie, who's crouched and ready...Charlie takes possession of the puck, goes for the triple deke and veers off around the back of the goal at the last moment, trying to use my scoring technique. I race forward as he tips the puck towards the nearest corner of the goal, Julie throws out her stick; time seems almost to have frozen as I watch her lean forward...and the puck rebounds! It bounces straight back to me and I hug it to my stick, turning and weaving through the opposition. I see Dwayne emerging beside me and forward the puck to him just before I reach the curve of the rink...

Charlie pulls out in front of me and bends low, sending me flying over his back before I can stop. I flip over and collide with the boards and then hit the ice, feeling my helmet disappear on contact with the barriers. Pain explodes in a white-hot flower of blinding proportions in my skull as my bare head knocks against the brick-hard ice. On my back and nursing a deafening headache, I open my eyes to see dim shapes moving around above me in between a shimmering haze of coloured lights. Guy's face swims into view and I moan feebly.

"Adam! Jesus Adam, answer me! Are you all right? Can you hear me?"

I form the words in my head and slowly force them out of my mouth. "Fine...thanks..."

"Oh thank God!" Cries another voice, Connie by the sound of it.

"Adam, can you move at all?" Asks Coach Orion, his voice close to my ear. I nod once, aggravating the pain in my head to such a degree that I retch, rolling over onto my front in case I throw up.

"I don't think anything's broken." Murmurs Portman, his hands on my shoulders, pulling me up.

"Come on Adam, lean on me and I'll help you." I blink slowly and see Fulton kneeling beside me, his face pale and taut with worry. My head seems to clear a bit and I blink to clear my vision and the fuzziness in my mind. With some effort I manage to loop my arm around his neck and he leads me away to the bench, the rest of the team following. Orion sits me down and looks into each of my eyes.

"I don't think there's any serious concussion...he wasn't unconscious at all...he'll probably need stitches, though. You'd best get him to the nurse, Fulton."

"No...nurse..." I mutter, trying to keep my head up. It suddenly seems to weigh a tonne.

"Adam, you need medical attention and you need it now. I advise you to get out of your skates as quickly as possible and get down to the medical rooms. Fulton will go with you to make sure you're all right-"

"I'll go too." Adds Dwayne, already behind Fulton and prepared to carry me to the medical wing if I need him to. There's no point in arguing, so I just shrug and allow them both to pull me upright, supporting me under each shoulder and helping me to stand. As we leave, I hear Coach Orion call out to the rest of the team.

"All right team, that's it for today! Everybody into the showers and get changed, I expect you've all got something better to do than stand around here for the rest of the day."

In the changing rooms, Fulton and Dwayne hastily pull off my skates and pack them into my kit bag before removing their own and slipping on their trainers. As Dwayne laces up my sneakers, I catch sight of myself in a mirror on the wall opposite and jump slightly. Staring back at me is what looks like my own face, but it's drawn and as white as chalk, my eyes darkened in pain. Shining wet and stark against the cadaverous pallor of my face is a thick, cascading stream of blood, leaking swiftly from a large gash along one side of my head. Fulton sees me staring in the mirror and nudges Dwayne. Together they haul me up and lead me towards the door.

"Come on Banksie, we'll get you to the nurse, she'll have you better in no time." But his expression is one of worry, a look that's echoed on Dwayne's strained face. As we leave the locker room I receive a tide of good-wishes from the team, each of them as pale and shocked as Dwayne and Fulton. I look back before the door closes-my last view is of Charlie, standing behind the rest of the Ducks, a smug grin on his face.


	6. Welcome to Hell

**Disclaimer: **Same as always, you know the routine...I don't own any of the People or places mentioned, 'cause they were invented by some genius working for Disney, which I also don't own. If I did, I would be like Scrooge McDuck, diving into and swimming in money...anyway...

Thanks to those who have reviewed previous chapters, I hope you enjoy reading this one. It's taking me a long time to finish, I know, but I can't help it. My tutors insist on giving me work for some reason...can't think why...

The look on the nurse's face when she sees me would normally make me laugh if I didn't feel so terrible.

"That bad am I?" I groan. She ignores my question and turns instead to Fulton.

"What's been going on here? How did this happen?"

"Hey, don't blame me lady, I'm his friend, we both are. It was an...accident during practise."

"Hockey?" She surmises, looking at our jerseys. "Ah yes, I've had a few of your lot in now and again...but never as bad as this. Quickly, get him onto a bed and I'll see to him. You two can go back and get changed."

"We want to stay." Fulton's voice is firm, his stance immovable. The nurse sighs.

"Fine, but try not to get in the way." Dwayne and Fulton drag me over to one of the few beds in the Medical Room and gently lay me down. I close my eyes gratefully as the coolness of the pillows surround my aching head, but moments later they're forced open again as the nurse shines a torch into them. I retch on the pain caused by the brightness of the light, but can only moan wretchedly.

"I know honey. "Murmurs the nurse. "But I have to do this. Hold still now..." A moment later the torchlight is replaced by blissful darkness as my lids slide shut again. I hear her turn to my two friends. "What's his name?"

"Adam Banks."

"Ah...yes, I've heard of him. Your star player, isn't he?"

"He is that ma'am." There's unmistakable pride in Dwayne's voice as he says this and if I had the energy, I would smile.

"How did this happen?"

"We were in practise, playing against each other and he went after the puck but another player pulled out in front of him and Adam went over his back. He hit the boards first and his helmet came off, then he fell on the ice and cracked his head off it."

"It was an accident, wasn't it?"

"I...don't know what you mean." Fulton feigns confusion, but I don't think the nurse is convinced.

"He wasn't deliberately thrown?"

"...No...of course not. Why would anyone want to do that to our best player?" His fake joviality is too obvious, but the nurse decides to leave it at that, for which I'm immensely grateful. A soft, cool hand is placed against one side of my head as the nurse gently explores the gash on the other side.

"Was he unconscious at all?"

"I don't think so." Answers Dwayne "But there was a lot going on, I can't be sure. Is there a problem?" He's worried, I can hear it in his voice. So far I've hardly said two words for myself, but I think if I open my mouth I'll be sick. The pain in my head is unbelievable and I can't concentrate properly...I don't even know if I'm drifting between sleep and consciousness or not. Everything seems so unreal...I can't get a grip on what's happening...

(Fulton)

I stand nervously beside Dwayne as the nurse looks closely at the wound on Adam's head. He's not looking good at all...in fact he's in the worst state I've ever seen, including all those years ago in the peewee championships when he got knocked senseless by McGill. His skin has gone a horrible blue-grey and the darkening blood streaming down his face isn't helping his appearance one bit. I can see anxiety in the nurse's eyes as she pulls back from my friend and there's a new, hurried efficiency to her actions. I hear Dwayne ask if there's anything wrong and she turns to us, her expression no longer calm.

"He needs to go to hospital right now. He's not responding at all well to light or sound and he's too lethargic. That cut on his head worries me. It's very deep...he'll need x-rays and scans, just to make sure nothing's damaged." She immediately rises and heads for the door. "I'm just going next door to my office to phone the Dean. He needs to know about this and then I'll phone for an ambulance, I need to get help as quickly as possible. You two stay here with Adam and let me know immediately if there's any change in him." Dwayne and I just nod and watch her hurry away, the urgency of the moment catching us all in its fierce grip. X-rays? Scans? This is looking very bad...

As the door closes behind the nurse, Dwayne turns to me, his face almost as white as Adam's.

"Oh God Fulton, what's Charlie done to him?" There are tears in his eyes and I wonder for a moment just how close the two really are. Then, berating myself for diverting from the issue at hand, I put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze it slightly. I wish I could reassure him that everything's going to be fine, but the words stick in my throat. I can't lie to him. Instead, I look down at Adam, who's lying on the bed in his bloodstained Ducks jersey his eyes slightly open and barely flickering. The dark blankness of the previously grey-blue eyes scares me and I move to sit on the bed beside him. Dwayne follows me and sits on his other side and together we endure a frightening vigil that seems to last hours.

Glancing at my friend I see him blink slowly and smile a little, dark shadows of pain flickering through his eyes-the first emotion I've seen since we left the changing rooms. I grin reassuringly.

"That's it Banksie. You stay with us now, hang in there. You'll...you'll be..." My voice trails away into nothing. No matter how hard I try I can't fool myself, let alone him. Just like I couldn't lie to Dwayne a few minutes ago, I can't deceive Banks either and he knows it. A sad look crosses his face before his eyes close and he sighs. I feel an eruption of anger at Charlie as I watch him, contenting myself with thoughts of what I'm going to do to him once I get hold of him to stop myself storming off to find him right now. I can't leave Banks, we're friends and I owe him a lot. Considering how much he's had to deal with in his life it feels somehow wrong to desert him when he needs me most. Doing that would make me just like everyone else. I even feel a little ashamed that I never cared enough to force an answer out of him before last night. I've known for a long time that his home life wasn't exactly perfect, but I didn't suspect just how bad things really were. He's always been such a private kid, even after everything the Ducks have been through...but I suppose he's always distanced himself from the team as much as possible; no one's really tried to involve him much in stuff the team does. Again I feel shame at myself and pity for Adam. He's had to cope with so much...but he hasn't really coped, has he? I was shocked last night when I found out he self-harmed. I didn't expect it of Banks. It just didn't fit. Sure he was quiet and often self-contained, but he always seemed happy enough. He covers things up well...he would though, wouldn't he? He's had years of practise. I feel tears threaten my eyes as I dwell on Adam's troubled past and the things he's had to deal with and hate myself for having such an easy life and loving parents and siblings.

At that moment the nurse hurries back in, an air of preoccupied haste about her.

"How is he?" She asks, leaning over me to get to Adam. I shrug.

"Same, I think. He's gone to sleep now, and I can't say I-"

"He's what?" She gives me an alarmed look and turns back to Adam, checking the pulse in his neck against her watch. She then pulls out her little torch again and shines it into each of his eyes. The difference this time is that there's no response from Banks. Last time he looked like he was going to be sick, but now there's no movement from him at all...my throat closes over in fear and panic begins to overtake all reasoning.

"He-he's not...?"

"No, he's alive, but he's in a very bad way." She turns to face Dwayne and me. "His condition has deteriorated much faster than I anticipated. I had hoped to have him in hospital before he lost consciousness, but-"She shrugs hopelessly.

"Is this bad?" Dwayne's voice is quiet, his eyes wide and helpless. The nurse shakes her head.

"I'm going to have to be honest with you boys. I wasn't expecting this to happen; I thought he would last until I could hand him over to the paramedics. If he doesn't get treatment soon he could well go into a coma, and if that happens before the ambulance gets here, he may never wake up..." A shocked silence follows her statement. I can't believe it...don't want to...Dwayne is trembling, I can see it from here. For once I know exactly how he's feeling, because the same emotions are running riot through me right now. We're losing our best friend...facing a future without Adam Banks in it...and it's all Charlie's fault...

"I'll kill him!" I growl, turning on my heel and storming from the Medical Room. I hear Dwayne shout to me, begging me to stop and calm down before I do something stupid...I ignore him and slam the door behind me, a senseless hatred fuelling my mind and body, making me forget every promise I made to myself about staying with Banks.

(Dwayne)

I hover indecisively between the door and Adam's bed, wanting to go after Fulton and stop him before he commits murder, but I realise that Adam needs me more. He needs me to be here for him.

"I'm going to ask again," The nurse's quiet voice startles me and I jump slightly. I had completely forgotten she was there. I turn to face her. "Was this deliberate?" How do I answer her? Of course it was deliberate, but will I have to tell her who did it? I've no objection to Charlie getting kicked out of Eden Hall, but if he finds out I told someone he'll come after me...I can't handle that. But on the other hand, if I can help someone else get to Charlie before Fulton does...

"Yes" I whisper, hanging my head, my mind made up. There's every possibility that I'm facing a lifetime of pain and torture for this, but I'm doing it save Fulton and most all Adam. "It was deliberate. The other player that pulled out knew Adam would hit the boards and the ice. If he hadn't stopped in front of him, Adam would have been able to turn in time, but..." I can't go on. Tears are choking my voice and I'm overwhelmed with fright. I'm shaking violently, anticipating the next question...

"Who did it?"

I can't answer. I just shake my head, unable to speak. But if I don't tell her, Fulton will find Charlie and I know for a fact that he'll kill him. The look in his eyes was enough to tell me that much. There's only one way of stopping the supposedly inevitable.

"Charlie Conway." I mutter, my head bowed in defeat. It's the only way to save Fulton. I can't let him throw away everything because of one defective captain. He's got so much going for him right now, but if he harms Charlie, what'll happen? Will he be thrown out? Will they take away his scholarship? I can't let that happen.

But what will they do with Charlie? He's the captain of the most successful hockey team they've ever had, plus he's good for publicity. He'll probably only get a month of detentions, then he'll be off the hook and no one else will know the truth...

Oh God, what have I done?

**From me to peeps:** Handy isn't it, the Review button being just below the end of the chapters? It's there to make everybody's life easier...(hint hint) ;D


	7. Truth and Justice

**Disclaimer:** Same old. Nothing and no one belongs to me.

**Warning**:Violence and references to abuse.

_Chapter 7: 'Truth and Justice'_

(Adam)

"Hey Adam, how you doing?"

"Oh...y'know..."

"You did well in the game tonight."

"...Thanks."

"I'm sorry about your number, but we couldn't give you nine, it was-"

"Already taken, I know."

"Adam...is everything all right?"

"Fine."

"If there were any problems you would tell me, wouldn't you?"

"I'm telling you, everything's fine. Please, leave me alone."

"But-"

"I don't mean to be rude coach, but I didn't ask for your help and I don't need it."

"I'm only concerned about you."

"Well you shouldn't be. No one else is."

I never knew morphine made you so pensive. I've been dwelling on that particular memory for a while now, going over and over the scene in my head. To this day I wonder how much Bombay knew and how much was guesswork. If he was working from a blind prediction then it was pretty uncanny how close he came to finding out the truth. For a while he pressured me to talk, but I wouldn't open up...same problems coming to the surface, as always. They weren't as bad then, I've become progressively worse over the years.

I stare sluggishly at the ceiling, uncomfortably drowsy. They've been giving me a wide variety of tablets in the three days I've been in hospital, but I find I don't really care. I keep hoping that sometime soon they'll make a mistake and give me an overdose instead...but maybe I'm being too optimistic. I've also been put under twenty four hour observation...suicide watch. It's because the nurses took the bandages from my arm when I was unconscious. Dwayne and Fulton were there and tried to cover for me, saying that it was support for a recurring injury, but it didn't help. They found the scars of course, and the bruising. There've been questions, but no answers. I don't talk to them. When the councillor comes every morning and afternoon I just sit and ignore him while he babbles about nothing in particular and discreetly tries to open me up. He wouldn't like what he'd find, I know that much.

They've spoken to my father too. Well, it had to happen, didn't it? He was called in the night I arrived, but when I came to he'd gone again, with a message that he'd be back. And he was. The next day he walked in, his eyes blazing in anger. As soon as he closed the door of my private room behind him he started on me.

"What the hell do you think you're playing at?" he hissed. I couldn't answer, just stared at my trembling hands as they knotted themselves in the blankets. He leaned down and gripped my shoulder until I cried out and looked up into a face twisted with rage and hate. I've never understood why he's always disliked me so much. "I had one of those prying nurses asking me about your _bruises_ and your _self-harming_." He sneered at me. "I should have known you'd resort to that; can't take your punishment like a man...you're weak, pathetic. I can't believe a milksop like you is related to my sons." At that point I felt my eyes fill with tears. "Look at you!" he snorted. "_Crying_? You're a disgrace." He threw me back onto the bed and paced across the tiny room. "They thought you were being abused you know." He smiled grimly. "The nurses. They thought someone at school was beating you up...I told them I would see to it..." I closed my eyes, knowing what was coming next. When the blow fell, it knocked me clear from the bed and I could taste blood in my mouth. Trying to ignore the pain, I rose and stood waiting. "You're not to tell them _anything_, do you understand?" I nodded once, but knew he wasn't finished. When he hit me a second time I reeled from the force, gasping and clutching my stomach. "If I find out that you've been telling _lies_ about me..." He gave me a warning look and I understood. I wouldn't survive the next beating if I said anything about him or my brothers. With a parting wallop to my ribs he was gone and I was left to crawl back into my bed feeling only relief that I had got off so lightly.

Surfacing from my reverie, I see a shadow fall across my vision and groan as I catch sight of the councillor approaching. He closes the door quietly behind himself and comes over to sit on my bed.

"Good afternoon Adam. How are we today?" I remain silent and stare blankly at the wall opposite. I've been allowed out of bed for the first time today, which means it shouldn't be long before I'm returning to Eden Hall. It also means I don't have to put up with this moron for much longer. "I see. Still as quiet as ever huh?" Again, no answer. If I ignore him for long enough he'll leave me alone and I'll be able to sit in peace until the next time he decides to bother me. I hear him give a deep, heart sore sigh. Cautiously, I meet his gaze. He's looking sadly at me, his eyes glittering strangely. "I've tried Adam. God knows I've tried. But you won't help me." He shrugs desolately. "I don't know what to do anymore." I actually feel sorry for him. He must have a pretty stressful job, trying to stop kids from killing themselves.

"What do you want from me?" I ask, slightly amused by the sudden startled look on his face. It's the first time I've spoken to him or even looked at him. The sorrow returns fairly swiftly, however.

"I just want to help you." I was afraid that would be the case. I look into his deep brown eyes that are full of an emotion totally alien to me. Is it pity? Concern?

"You can't." Two words, but the finality in them startles even me.

"You may feel like that now, but give me a chance...I'm here to help, it's my job. You may not have spoken to me before now Adam, but for some reason I've become fond of you. I want to know what's bothering you. Why are you harming yourself? Who is it that's beating you? There are people that can stop this kind of thing."

"You don't know what kind of 'thing' to expect.

"Try me." That was one step too far. He was aiming for those two words all along. I realise I've said too much, even though it's only three sentences. I look away from the councillor once more and resume the blank stare I reserve specially for walls and prying adults. This requires extra concentration, as there are both in one room.

He sighs again and rises from my bed. "Well, that's it Adam. You're free to go. They're releasing you today, you're well enough to go back to your school." He heads for the door but turns back before stepping through it. I'm still gazing at the wall. "I wish you could've talked to me, I really wanted to make things better. I won't forget you Adam Banks." And he's gone. To tell you the truth, I'm relieved. I don't want to have to talk to anyone about myself. It was hard enough to open up to Dwayne and Fulton and I only did that because I was more emotionally unstable than usual. It was a moment of weakness inflicted by pain and cruelty that caused me to let go of everything that should've stayed secret. Well, never again. From now on I remain silent no matter how bad things get. I can't forfeit my barrier to anyone else, the barrier that, until recently, kept me safe from my thoughts and emotions. From me.

The room hasn't changed, but I notice that Fulton has switched beds. I'm grateful and intend to tell him so, but I can't find him. The dorms are empty, I guess everyone's down in the hall eating dinner. No one knows I'm back yet except the staff. I had to sign in at the nurse's office so that she could take a look at the doctor's report and give me a last check up. I let my overnight bag fall to the floor and sit on the edge of my bed, the echoes of the room torturing me once more. I had found a degree of peace in the hospital, but now the old feelings have returned with a vengeance. I can't handle it right now, so I rise and leave again, allowing my feet to guide me. I wander aimlessly down the corridors, with no idea where I want to end up, but eventually I surface from my thoughts to see I've arrived at the doors leading to the grounds. With a backward glance at the comforting, warm lights of Eden Hall I step out into the chilly, dark night. There's little chance I'll get caught; the groundskeeper isn't the most proactive person in the world. He catches just enough out of bounds students to make the principal think he's on top of things, but the truth is far from the statistics. I've found that's often the case.

I stop at the small lake, seating myself under a tree and leaning back against its trunk. I thought I was alone, so it's a considerable surprise when I hear a movement from behind. I look up quickly to see a tall figure bend at the waist and ease himself down beside me, the long feather in his hat brushing my cheek as he settles. Of course...Dwayne. He has a sixth sense when it comes to knowing where I am and what I'm doing.

"I thought you might be back." His soft southern accent is comforting and I'm suddenly glad I've returned.

"I was going to see you later cowboy. I was waiting for dinner to finish."

"You wouldn't have found me...I didn't go to dinner."

"Why n-"but my voice fails as I turn to look at him. The night is dark, but there's a bright sliver of silver light from the moon that suddenly shows itself. It falls starkly across Dwayne's face and I feel my breath hiss through my teeth at the sight of his black eye and battered appearance. His lip is cut and I can see a long gash down one cheek. Instinctively I know that he's like that all over. His eyes glimmer defiantly as is stare at him, his jaw set in determination. "What...?" But I already know the answer. "Charlie!" Dwayne bows his head, but it's only further confirmation of something I already know. "He did the same to you didn't he?" I ask, horrified. My friend says nothing for a moment, then takes a deep breath before answering.

"He did this to me because I told the nurse what he did and I stuck up for you-"

"Dwayne! What did you do a stupid thing like that for?" I demand.

"Because you're my friend. I realised that the night Charlie...raped you. I couldn't let it happen again, so I finally stood up to him"

"What do you mean-"But he cuts me off again.

"Adam, there's something I should tell you. Please, don't interrupt me, wait till I've finished. After I'm done you can do what you want and think what you want, but for now all I ask is that you listen to me." This sounds serious, so I stay quiet and wait.

"One thing you should know about me is that I'm not like you. I'm gay." His openness shocks me, but I find I'm not disgusted. I'm proud of him for his unflinching acceptance of who he really is. "Six months ago Charlie found out, but he said he was okay with it. He told me he was gay too and that...he'd liked me for ages but didn't want to say anything in case I didn't feel the same. From that moment I loved Charlie Conway with all my heart and soul, but as we got deeper into our relationship I began to have doubts about him. I'm not sure he is gay, but I do know he's dangerously violent. Within two months he was pressuring me to sleep with him...I didn't want that, I wasn't ready. But in the end he forced me...raped me like he did you. After that I tried to leave him, but realised I couldn't. Even though he'd betrayed me like that I still loved him. I couldn't help it. But it wasn't just once. He wouldn't leave me alone until I gave in to him or he forced me...in the end I got used to it...I had to. But he grew bored of me and wanted someone new, someone exciting." I can see the tears falling silently down his face and my heart wrenches painfully. What has Conway done to my friend? "Instead he found you. He found the one person that didn't deserve what he had in mind and he took the last thing that you could call your own. That was when I stopped loving him. I realised my friendship with you meant more than the meaningless relationship I had with him. When I saw you that night on your bed, bruised and beaten down I lost any feelings I may have had for him. When I went back to my room I confronted him about the rape. I don't remember much...he shouted, hit me...abused me..." I suppress a shudder at the thought of what Dwayne must have been through that night, and every one after it.

"After he'd injured you during practise and we took you to the nurse, she asked me what had really happened. I told her that Conway had hurt you deliberately. She went straight to the principal, but he was only put on detention. He didn't like me telling the nurse the truth...that's why I'm like this. People asked questions for the first day or so, but I told them I fell while I was out riding. But I wanted you to know Adam. You deserve the truth about me, its' the least I can give you for the things Charlie put you through...for what I put you through."

I reach out and grip his shoulder compassionately. "You didn't do anything to me Dwayne! You're not responsible for Charlie's actions. He's an individual with free will...he chooses what he does, not you. So don't feel bad. There are a lot worse things that happen to me, and none of those are your fault either. You can't blame yourself for those and you can't blame yourself for Charlie." A small smile creases the corners of Dwayne's mouth and he sniffles quietly.

"You're a better person than I could ever be Adam. After everything you've been through you can still forgive me...I don't deserve a friend like you."

"There's nothing to forgive. And it's me who doesn't deserve a friend like you. You put yourself through all that just to stand up for me..." I suddenly find my throat constricted and I have to wait a moment for it to clear before I can carry on. "No one's ever done that for me." As I tell him this, a decision forms itself rapidly in my mind. I'm going to do this before I can stop to think about it. "You may never know how much you've just helped me Dwayne." I say, clapping him on the shoulder and rising from my seat under the tree. He looks up, startled.

"What are you gonna do?"

"Stick up for myself at last."


	8. Confrontations

**Disclaimer:** This gets old real fast. No, I don't them. You know that, I know that and Disney knows that.

_Chapter 8:' Confrontations'_

I don't meet anyone as I storm through the corridors, my mind turning over everything Dwayne's just told me. Again I feel my eyes sting with tears at the thought of what he must've gone through to protect me. Well, not anymore. That was the last beating Charlie Conway got away with.

As I reach his door and raise my hand to knock, I consider turning back, the old fear of him turning me into a last-minute coward. But as immediately as this thought enters my head I feel sickened. If Dwayne can take beatings for me, why can't I do the same for him? And anyway, it's going to be me teaching Conway a lesson this time, not the other way round. With these resolutions strengthening my quailing spirit, I pound furiously on the door. At first there's no answer and I wonder if Charlie's still in the hall, but a moment later his face appears, creased into that familiar languid expression. As he registers it's me at his door, the old predatory grin manifests itself and he emits a low chuckle.

"Well, well, well...if it isn't Banksie. How you doing darling? I was wondering when they'd let you out of hospital."

"So you could put me straight back in?" I growl, my newfound confidence barely covering the violent trembling of my knees. Nevertheless, I barge into his room and slam the door behind me.

"Hmm...I never took you for the assertive type...I must say, it's a style that suits you. And I never _meant_ to put you in hospital-"

"No? Just hurt me a bit I suppose?"

"Well of course. I couldn't have you getting out of hand...although it looks as though I failed in that respect..."

"Thought you could get rid if me before I found out about Dwayne did you?" I'm barely keeping my anger in check. My hands have balled into fists at my sides and I can feel my cheeks flushing in my anger. Charlie, however, is still cool and infuriatingly arrogant. My rage is overtaking my fear and I just know that it's only a matter of time before I go for him. He grins again, his teeth flashing in the dull lamplight.

"Ah yes, I wondered when we'd reach him."

"I've seen what you did to him."

"Jealous? Don't worry Banksie, if you're feeling left out I'll happily give you all the attention you want." He advances towards me, but I'm not done yet.

"He didn't deserve that. He was only defending me-"

"And now you've come to do the same for him? How sweet." He laughs cruelly and leaps at me, pushing me to the floor, but as he falls on top of me I roll to the side until I can pin him down. I'm sitting astride his chest, my knees gripping his ribs tightly.

"Oh but Adam, I like being on top!" He smiles sadistically, reaching up to toy with my hair and I suddenly feel myself snap. Knocking his hand aside, I bring my own fist round against his face in a punch even my father would be proud of.

That's the thought that halts the second blow. What am I? If I give in to this anger, I'm just like my father, my brothers and...Charlie...

"That's some right hook you got there Banks." Gasps Conway, blood dripping from his nose. "But it's not going to happen again." He's not smiling now. All traces of sick humour have left his face and his eyes have gone black with indescribable fury. My moment of indecision is about to cost me dearly. Charlie twists violently and I'm thrown from his chest while he rises and towers over me. Prostrate on the floor, all I can do is gaze upwards into his shadowed face. "You shouldn't have done that Adam. Dwayne tried to stick up for you and look what happened to him. I thought you would've taken the hint but..." He leans forward. "It's going to be much, much worse for you. I _liked_ Dwayne..."


	9. And The Rivers Ran Red With Blood

**Disclaimer: **Nope, still don't own the people or places, though not for the want of trying. I couldn't raise the capital to buy them, you should've _seen_ what Disney wanted for them!

Chapter nine: 'And the rivers ran red with blood' 

(Fulton)

I've never seen Dwayne look so bad. He burst into my room only a few minutes ago sweating and yelling something about madness and Adam...at first I wondered what this had to do with a cheesy, out of date pop band, but quickly realised what he really meant.

"Okay Dwayne," I say slowly. "Try again. What has Adam done?"

"He's...He's gone to fight Charlie!"

I'm momentarily stunned. Banksie? Fight someone? Have we shifted to a parallel universe?

"What do you mean?"

"I told him about me and Charlie and why Charlie beat me up...and he got mad. When I asked him what he was gonna do, he said 'stick up for myself at last', and Fulton...I think he really means it. But...he doesn't stand a chance." He finishes miserably, hanging his head. I reach out and grab his shoulder.

"We've got to leave him to it Dwayne." He looks astounded at my statement, but I shake my head. "It's a decision that he's come to...it must've taken him a lot of courage to even go near Charlie again. Give him a chance; let him do this one on his own. We've got to trust him." He seems indecisive, but the next moment he nods resolutely and relaxes.

"I can't go back to Charlie's room after Adam's been though. Charlie'll be in a stinking mood. He scares me when he's like that..."

"He scares me too cowboy." I mutter distractedly.

Dwayne frowns. "How come?"

"In the past few days I've seen him do things I never though possible of any self-respecting human being. He's attacked friends, denied deliberate injury and tortured a person too emotionally fragile to stand up for himself...I'm sure he could get a lot lower than that, but I don't want to push it..."

"Yeah...I never realised he would do things like that either..."

Poor Dwayne looks devastated. He must have really loved Conway at one point. I take pity on him, an action I'm doing more and more frequently, yet still so unused to.

"Why don't you stay here tonight? You can wait with me for Adam to turn up. Besides, we've got early practise tomorrow. Have you got your kit with you?"

"I left it in my locker in the changing rooms after yesterday...I couldn't afford to try and get back up to my room to put it away, I'd have been late for lessons."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. That biology teacher-"And so we get into a lengthy discussion about the various teachers, each of us unwilling to face the fact that it's been half an hour and still Adam hasn't turned up.

I jerk awake suddenly, a sharp ache in my neck making me groan tiredly. Peering at my clock I see that it's 5.20 am. I would've been getting up in another ten minutes anyway to get to practise. All at once, the memories of last night flood back into my mind and I sit up in my bed. I'm still wearing my clothes from last night and on the floor at my feet is Dwayne, in a deep sleep and snoring softly. Searching the room hastily with my eyes I feel my heart sink. No sign of Adam. Reaching over the side of my bed I give my friend a gentle shake to wake him. He yawns and stretches, then sits bolt upright, much like I did only moments before.

"Where is he? Is he here? How is he? What happened? Adam?" In any other situation I would've laughed, but the situation at hand isn't really one that allows for amusement, no matter how mild.

"Dwayne...he hasn't turned up. I don't know where he is. Surely he would've come back here last night?"

Dwayne's eyes widen in horror and I wish that I could've had good news for him.

"He's...not here?"

I shake my head, nearly in tears. What's happened to my friend?

"But-but" Stammers Dwayne, "he could've...stayed with someone else couldn 't he? What if he was hurt? He would've gone to the nearest room with Ducks in and stayed with them." He's eager to latch onto this explanation. I give him a reassuring smile.

"Yeah, that's probably what happened. Good thinking cowboy!" I suppose that could be the case...even though our room is the nearest one to Charlie's with Ducks in it...

I don't have the heart to tell Dwayne this. Instead, I get up and take a quick shower before pulling on some relatively clean clothes. Within ten minutes we're heading down towards the rink, me with my kit bag slung over one shoulder. We're going to be early, but neither of us cares. I suppose we're hoping Adam will be there early too.

By the time we reach the changing rooms, they're empty, as I thought, but not because we're early. There's a note posted on the outside of the locker room door:

_Saturday practise time altered, 5.30 am prompt. Thanks, Orion._

"Great." I mutter. "Just what I needed this morning. Orion's gonna be furious. Why can't he post these under our doors or something? How did he expect us to see that?" I demand, hastily pulling my pads on and dragging my skates from my bag. Dwayne just shakes his head, too preoccupied in getting ready to answer properly. As I'm lacing up my skates, I turn curiously to Dwayne. "Do you think it's a bit quiet in there?"

He frowns. "I was just thinking that. Usually they're making a load of noise..." the same thought hits us both at the same time.

"Adam!" We exclaim, hurrying for the door leading onto the ice. As I stumble through to the rink half ready, I notice a deathly silence, but it's a few moments until I realise what else is missing.

"Hey...where's the team?" Beside me Dwayne points a shaking finger at the far end of the rink, where the Ducks are gathered, but it's no pep talk they're getting. They're all on their knees in a huge ring and they all seem to be supporting one player. "Oh no..." I groan and we leap onto the ice, speeding towards the team. They look up as they hear us approach and Guy rises, attempting to stop us. I just push him roughly aside, breaking into the centre of the group and skidding to my knees. Behind me, I hear Dwayne struggling against Portman, yelling something-I don't know what, my senses seem to have gone numb at the sight before me.

Lying across the ice, his head supported on Julie's lap is Adam. His skin is horribly pale and waxy and his lips are tinged blue. He's in his Ducks Jersey, but he doesn't have any skates on, or any of his other hockey gear for that matter. I suspect he hasn't changed since he returned last night. But what's wrong with him? Why does he look so terrible? He seems so small and defenceless without his pads on underneath his jersey.

"We found him like this." Whispers Julie, tears running down her pretty face. "He was just lying there when we skated in. We don't know how long he's been here...all night maybe...Orion's gone to get someone, but..." her head drops as her breath catches in her throat. I can feel tears warm on my face, but I still don't understand. Found him like what? I gaze wildly around and feel my heart freeze as solid as the rink I'm kneeling on. Adam, my friend, is lying in a small pool of blood. But it can't be his, surely? I let my eyes follow the trail and choke as I see the widening scarlet flower on Adam's jersey. A large rent in the fabric shows a gaping wound in his stomach, steadily leaking precious blood onto the Ducks symbol.

"Oh God, no." I gasp, pulling one of Adam's hands into my own. It's not as cold as I'd expect, but clammy. As I begin to chafe the limp fingers I see his eyes open slightly, translucent and silvery with pain. Swiftly I pull my own jersey over my head and push it to the gaping, bleeding rent. From the corner of my vision I see Dwayne fall to the ice, weeping uncontrollably, Portman still holding him, this time trying to comfort him whilst crying himself. I reach out and push back a drifting tendril of hair from Adam's eyes. I was always telling him to get a haircut..."It's okay Adam. We're here for you now. Just hang on, Orion's gone for help. We'll soon have you good as new." Somehow I've found a way to smile brightly and reassure my friend, even though everything inside me is screaming the opposite. Adam gives a small smile in return, but I can see sadness and resignation in his eyes. He knows. He knows what the rest of us are unwilling to face. "Just stay with us Adam, you're going to be fine." But he just shakes his head slightly, his grip on my hand tightening for a moment. "No Adam!" I say forcefully. "You're not going, I won't let you!" But in my heart I know he's already gone. His eyes slide shut for the last time and his fingers loosen around my hand. It's over. Over at last. And I know whose fault it is.

I turn to look at Charlie, my eyes streaming in my grief. All around the rest of the team are beginning to wail as the realisation of Adam's departure takes them over. Only Conway isn't weeping. He's got a slight smile on his face as he looks at me and he pats his pocket. Catching a dull glint I look closer and the see the rust-coloured edge of a flick knife gleaming under his hand. In that moment everything pieces itself together in my mind and I feel a chill at the thought of a murderer standing so calmly among us. But no one will ever catch him. The police will be here soon, but nobody will tell them who really did it. Because no one else knows except Dwayne and I. Charlie glances at Dwayne and back to me and I understand immediately. My silence has been bought.


	10. Last Flight of Duck 99

**Disclaimer:** How glad am I to be doing this for the last time? I don't own the Mighty Ducks, or Eden Hall. Although if I did I wouldn't have to bother with these annoying disclaimers at the beginning of every chapter.

**Notes:** This chapter's written in the third person, because it deals with too many people to write multiple first person views. And I was lazy. And the ending wouldn't have worked. And I was lazy. Simple as.

_Chapter 10: 'Last Flight of Duck 99'_

It was a perfect day, just the kind that heralded the early end of autumn. The sky was a clear translucent blue and the air was brisk and wintry. And yet how could such a beautiful day be so sad?

The Ducks all stood together, united one last time in a moment of grief and need...but not completely united. There was one missing who would never be counted amongst them again. As Fulton gazed at the coffin gleaming brightly in the pale sunlight he wondered again if he could have changed things. If he had seen sooner...if he had protected his friend...would anything be different? His dark hair fell across his face as he bowed his head, hiding the tears of a grief that he wanted to keep private. Beside him stood Dwayne, a half-healed gash marring a face yellow with fading bruises. Tears streaked his face also, but he made no attempt to conceal them. He blamed himself for this. If he had gone back to his room instead of staying with Fulton because he was too scared...he had abandoned his best friend...they all had...

Connie and Julie's sobs broke softly through the still, crisp air. It was the kind of day that had always been Adam's favourite, Fulton reflected, glancing across the same iron-grey lake they had seen only months before in milder weather. It made sense, somehow, burying him next to Hans.

They watched as the coffin was lowered into the ground, the darkness swallowing the last remains of Adam Banks. Fulton had tried to request a cremation, he knew it was what Adam would have preferred, but the Banks' had already booked a burial. Even at the last they disregarded their son's best interests. They hadn't even bothered to turn up for the funeral. A small, sad bunch of daisies was the most they had contributed. Fulton supposed they decided they had done their duty paying for the coffin and burial.

The priest handed a box to Gordon Bombay. It contained a small mound of earth and Bombay wept as he cast a handful into the grave.

"Remember him, Ducks. He was a beautiful spirit, bright but troubled. He didn't deserve the problems he had." And he passed the box on. Each of the team silently threw a handful of dirt into the gaping hole before them, as well as a single rose, gradually filling the darkness with a velvet shower of sweet scents and whispering petals. When the box reached Fulton, he paused and looked up at the rest of his team.

"No one really knew what went on in Adam's life, because that was the way he wanted things. He didn't trust us enough to tell us the truth...he was ashamed of himself because of his own father. We took Adam for granted, assumed he would always be there to help out the team...it was selfish of us. He needed help and comfort, but all he got was rejection." Fulton gazed across the grave at Charlie, who met his stare unflinchingly, a small, lazy smile on his lips. His eyes were narrowed in an expression of smugness. He knew Fulton and Dwayne would never tell the truth. "We owe him so much." Whispered Fulton. The others all bowed their heads, unaware of the dark secrets being passed in the glances of three of their number. Fulton threw his handful of earth and added a particularly large, white rose to the grave. Beside him stood Dwayne, silent and pale. He copied Fulton's motions and passed the box on. Last in line was Charlie. He took the last handful of soil and threw it slowly into Adam's grave.

"We'll miss you Banksie. You were good fun." No one else looked up at these words except Dwayne and Fulton, who both glared at him, hate sparking in the air around them, unnoticed by the others.

The group began to depart as two men stepped forward to fill the grave. The girls were crying unrestrainedly onto each other's shoulders and even Portman was weeping silently against Averman. The Ducks were devastated by this loss, but more so because they had never even realised the problems their friend had to deal with.

"If only he'd told us!" Sniffed Julie, wiping her eyes. "We wouldn't have thought any less of him."

"We could've helped."

"Why didn't we realise?"

"What did we do?"

Fulton and Dwayne remained by the graveside watching the hole gradually filling with cold, damp soil and listening to the fading remonstrations of their teammates. Dwayne heaved a great sigh, his breath catching in his throat as he did so.

"It's our fault you know."

"I do, yes."

"We could've done something to stop this."

"It was going to happen sooner or later. He was always going to go early."

"That doesn't make this any easier."

"I know. But it's something we have to accept. If it hadn't been Charlie, then it would've been Adam's dad, or his brothers."

"He didn't deserve any of this."

"Not many people do Dwayne."

They stood in silence once more, each going through their best memories of Adam. Eventually, Dwayne surfaced from his thoughts and shivered slightly. The grave was almost filled-they must have been standing there for hours. Fulton gave a last sigh and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"It's getting cold...it'll be night soon."

"I don't want to leave him...he's scared of the dark."

"We have to go Dwayne. He wouldn't want our lives to come to a halt just because he's gone. Besides, he's probably much happier where he is."

"...You're right. He's not in any more pain."

"No, he's not. It almost makes up for his last few hours..."

"We can't let Charlie get away with this." It was a statement more than anything else."

"What else can we do? He's proved how dangerous he is...you saw him, he doesn't even care about what he's done..."

"It's just so unfair. Even when Adam's dead, we can't do anything to help him."

"I'm afraid that's just the way life is Dwayne. We can't change that." They waited a few more moments, watching the mound of earth over their dead friend grow larger. At last, they turned to leave, but Fulton hesitated and moved back, towards the mountain of flowers and tributes to Adam left by other mourners. Pulling something from the inside of his coat, he unravelled it and placed it amongst long, wavering lily petals. Edging nearer, Dwayne felt tears fill his eyes again. There, framed by pale, delicate flowers was a Ducks hockey jersey. Number 99, the one Adam had been wearing when he died. It still had the dark bloodstain marring its pristine whiteness.

"I left it as a reminder." Murmured Fulton, indicating the stain. "So we'll never forget why he's not with us anymore." Together, they turned again and left at last, vowing to return in a few days to see the headstone put up.

As darkness fell the wan colours of the late flowers dimmed, but amongst them gleamed the white jersey, the Ducks symbol partly obliterated by the black stain. For a moment, as the sun fell behind the still, glassy lake, the number 99 seemed to glow, before it too was covered by darkness.

_Fin._


End file.
